Little Boy

April 21, 2011
By Shannyford BRONZE, Easton, Pennsylvania
Shannyford BRONZE, Easton, Pennsylvania
2 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
“Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.” -- E.L. Doctorow

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. He was different from all of the other little boys; while their mommies were all busy going on about how their little boys had said their first word, this little boy lay wordlessly in his crib. However, he was not quiet; his mommy would talk about how he had so much to say even though he did not speak, and she would lay next to him while they had conversations with just their eyes. While the other little boys' daddies were all proudly talking about their boys' first steps, this little boy did not even crawl. However, his legs were not still; his daddy would talk about how his legs kicked and squirmed whenever his daddy came in the room, and he would lie next to his little boy while their smiles took them further than feet ever could.

The world took pity on the little boy's parents. "Oh I'm so sorry for your burden," it would say, taking hold of the parents' hands and shaking its head. "You are so brave to put up with him." But the parents would shake their heads and pull their hands away.

"No, we are sorry for your burden," they would say, patting the world's shoulder. "You are so unlucky not to have him." They would then walk away with their little boy in their arms, laughing and smiling and pitying a world who didn't understand what it had chosen to lose. For you see, while the other parents were teaching their little boys about the world, this little boy was teaching his parents.

He was teaching them of a world without "hate" and "different." He was teaching them of a world where people had no capacity or understanding for such things – where people only had the capacity to love. The parents learned of a world where everyone was a brother, where the only purpose in life was to love and be loved. They learned to see the world their little boy saw, and they learned to love it, even though it didn't love them back.

The world would try to fix the boy. "I'm sorry he is so different," it would say, offering an outstretched hand. "I can try to fix him, to teach him how to live normally." But the parents would shake their heads and push its hand away.

"No, we are sorry you cannot see," they would say, holding their little boy's hand as sunlight beamed from his smile. "We cannot try to fix you, to teach you how to live." They would then walk away with their little boy in their arms, living and loving and sharing in his light while the world was left in darkness. For you see, thanks to their little boy, the parents understood.

They understood that there was nothing to fix. They understood that their little boy was not the one broken; the world was the one who needed fixing. Their little boy had taught them to see a beautiful world and be beautiful people. He had taught them that people who could not speak still had so much to say. He had taught them that people who the world said didn't know were the ones who understood the most. He had taught them that someone so seemingly useless could touch more lives than a "useful" person ever could.

The author's comments:
My little brother is mentally and physically retarded, and I've been seeing so much hatred and disgust towards special little boys like him. And while I do get angry and want to shout and tear apart those undesirable people who can't see the beauty of all people, even those who are a bit different, Connor has never batted an eyelash. He just keeps smiling, and he's inspired me to slap a big smile on my face and laugh at what the rest of the world is missing out on.

I hope that you can understand what Connor's smile has taught me from this piece.

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This article has 1 comment.

on May. 3 2011 at 6:08 pm
redeemed_love GOLD, Houghton, Michigan
10 articles 16 photos 19 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse something that is already clear in my mind. If it were clear in my mind, I should have incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood. We write to understand." C.S Lewis

This gave me chills. Amazing job.


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