I don't remember what he looked like, nor do I know his name. My mother told me he was a Mongoloid, and that would be all I would know about him, other than he died a few days after I met him. I met him in a hospital shower when I was in the eighth grade on a cold winters day. We played together for a half hour or so forty years ago, and I still think of him often. It was the first time I had interacted with someone that different, the first time I learned that being raised without a culture had certain advantages.
I was playing basketball earlier that day when I was inadvertently kicked in the stomach. I went down with cramps and couldn't stand up. An ambulance was called, and I was wheeled out on a gurney in the frigid January winter. As we rolled out into the cold, one of the paramedics pulled the blanket up over my head to keep me warm, the very same moment a loquacious teen aged girl looked out her classroom window to see what all the commotion was about. By the end of the day I was dead, at least as far as the junior high school student body was concerned.
I don't remember much about the emergency room, or the treatment I received while there. I do remember the doctor's words when he visited me in my hospital room a few hours later though, remember them like it was yesterday. He explained that I had a small tear in my stomach and that it had contracted, sort of like a woman in labor. I thanked God I wasn't a woman that day. I ended up staying the night, and later in the evening felt good enough for a shower.
When I got to the shower, I saw a small figure in the corner in a small wheel chair. A male nurse was washing the boy in the chair, and I self-consciously went about my business. A few minutes later I felt something hit my right foot and I looked down to see a small wind up car on its side, its tiny wheels spinning in the steady down pour of the shower. I heard a small grunt and I couldn't tell if it was good or bad, but I knew where it came from. I looked over across the small room and saw that the boy was now sitting on the floor, looking over at his toy at my feet. I took a long curious look at him before I reached down to retrieve the car. He was shorter than his age, his skin was a very unnatural color, and his head was very misshapen. He didn't speak as I could tell, and I became aware that the nurse was apologizing and was approaching to take back the car. I picked it up and gestured that I would bring it over.
I stopped about six feet away, and sat down gingerly against the rigorous protest my stomach launched against my entire body. It didn't feel weird to be there naked on the floor with someone I couldn't understand. I was curious, and I sensed that he must have been very lonely. Once down, I wound the car, aimed it at my shower partner and let it go. He squealed and I could make out the silhouette of a smile despite not knowing exactly where his mouth was. As the car raced towards him, he slapped at it clumsily and it spun around once and came right back to me. Odd I thought, so I caught it and again sent it across the old, wet tiles towards him. He repeated the strange utterance that I now knew to be excitement, and again swatted the car expertly back to me. We repeated this curious commute for twenty minutes I guess, only stopping to wind the car every fifth circuit or so. Finally, the nurse told me it was time to go, and I got up and towelled off. I would never see the boy again, never know how old he was, never know why he was in that shower with me that day.
My mother was in the hallway when I came out and asked me what had taken so long. I explained I was playing with a kid in the shower. She asked me if it was the child in the wheel chair and I nodded. She smiled and we went back to my room. I asked her later that night what was wrong with him and she answered simply "he's a Mongoloid." Her certainty dampened any further curiosity I had about his condition, and I shifted my attention to the dinner tray on my bed table. A few days later, when we returned to see the doctor, my mother had learned somehow that the boy had died. She told me matter of factly, and I remember feeling a twinge of sadness in my stomach, probably as my head was not ready to process such things.
I returned to school, from the dead, and enjoyed my short lived notoriety. I didn't tell anyone about my friend in the shower, not because I thought it strange or I was ashamed, only that it was a nice moment in time with someone who appreciated my company. As a matter of fact, this might be the first time I have articulated this story in the intervening years. A few years ago I learned that Mongoloid was a common word used for Down Syndrome back then, and it was nice but not comforting to know his actual condition. Now, as a man, I am still not afraid of getting down on the floor, down in the dirt, down anywhere to work or play with someone. I love this part of me that seems to put off others, and I thank God for this one bit of humility I have, perhaps taught to me on a shower room floor by a young, mute man with just a few days to live.
I was playing basketball earlier that day when I was inadvertently kicked in the stomach. I went down with cramps and couldn't stand up. An ambulance was called, and I was wheeled out on a gurney in the frigid January winter. As we rolled out into the cold, one of the paramedics pulled the blanket up over my head to keep me warm, the very same moment a loquacious teen aged girl looked out her classroom window to see what all the commotion was about. By the end of the day I was dead, at least as far as the junior high school student body was concerned.
I don't remember much about the emergency room, or the treatment I received while there. I do remember the doctor's words when he visited me in my hospital room a few hours later though, remember them like it was yesterday. He explained that I had a small tear in my stomach and that it had contracted, sort of like a woman in labor. I thanked God I wasn't a woman that day. I ended up staying the night, and later in the evening felt good enough for a shower.
When I got to the shower, I saw a small figure in the corner in a small wheel chair. A male nurse was washing the boy in the chair, and I self-consciously went about my business. A few minutes later I felt something hit my right foot and I looked down to see a small wind up car on its side, its tiny wheels spinning in the steady down pour of the shower. I heard a small grunt and I couldn't tell if it was good or bad, but I knew where it came from. I looked over across the small room and saw that the boy was now sitting on the floor, looking over at his toy at my feet. I took a long curious look at him before I reached down to retrieve the car. He was shorter than his age, his skin was a very unnatural color, and his head was very misshapen. He didn't speak as I could tell, and I became aware that the nurse was apologizing and was approaching to take back the car. I picked it up and gestured that I would bring it over.
I stopped about six feet away, and sat down gingerly against the rigorous protest my stomach launched against my entire body. It didn't feel weird to be there naked on the floor with someone I couldn't understand. I was curious, and I sensed that he must have been very lonely. Once down, I wound the car, aimed it at my shower partner and let it go. He squealed and I could make out the silhouette of a smile despite not knowing exactly where his mouth was. As the car raced towards him, he slapped at it clumsily and it spun around once and came right back to me. Odd I thought, so I caught it and again sent it across the old, wet tiles towards him. He repeated the strange utterance that I now knew to be excitement, and again swatted the car expertly back to me. We repeated this curious commute for twenty minutes I guess, only stopping to wind the car every fifth circuit or so. Finally, the nurse told me it was time to go, and I got up and towelled off. I would never see the boy again, never know how old he was, never know why he was in that shower with me that day.
My mother was in the hallway when I came out and asked me what had taken so long. I explained I was playing with a kid in the shower. She asked me if it was the child in the wheel chair and I nodded. She smiled and we went back to my room. I asked her later that night what was wrong with him and she answered simply "he's a Mongoloid." Her certainty dampened any further curiosity I had about his condition, and I shifted my attention to the dinner tray on my bed table. A few days later, when we returned to see the doctor, my mother had learned somehow that the boy had died. She told me matter of factly, and I remember feeling a twinge of sadness in my stomach, probably as my head was not ready to process such things.
I returned to school, from the dead, and enjoyed my short lived notoriety. I didn't tell anyone about my friend in the shower, not because I thought it strange or I was ashamed, only that it was a nice moment in time with someone who appreciated my company. As a matter of fact, this might be the first time I have articulated this story in the intervening years. A few years ago I learned that Mongoloid was a common word used for Down Syndrome back then, and it was nice but not comforting to know his actual condition. Now, as a man, I am still not afraid of getting down on the floor, down in the dirt, down anywhere to work or play with someone. I love this part of me that seems to put off others, and I thank God for this one bit of humility I have, perhaps taught to me on a shower room floor by a young, mute man with just a few days to live.
wait wait wait.
ReplyDeleteyou used to call me that!!
:I
Perfect. May Allah bless you. See i told u once, you haven't changed, u have been always and this kind-hearted, and the good in you is as old as you are, you just needed a a tiny search. Once you were truely aware of the wonderful things you want to achieve. Look how many lives you r touching now.
ReplyDelete