Friday, December 23, 2011

Twenty Third Day of December

Lase night we went to see my son graduate from one belt to another in his karate class.
Christmas music was absolutetly blaring as the parents assembled and waited in the seating area.
It really got to the autistic boy behind us who began to scream in real pain.
Jack, the youngest, sat on my lap and rested his head against my chest.
Limp, frail, trusting - he said,
 " I only dream about bad stuff or things I don't want to know"

You wonder how much he heard of the other night's loss of control.
You wonder whether the boy is a prophet,
or if he is afflicted, like you.

He wonders aloud why the karate guy - barefoot in a Santa suit -
has black hair under his hat and behind his white beard.

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