Preface: For those of you with whom are easily made to feel uncomfortable about delicate subjects focused upon an individual’s behavior in comparison with that of the tribe, please withhold your venomous-filled retorts as this is only an observation (Note to the “Softees”: Rest assured, I can still hear your little heart go peep-peep in loving empathy over the foci of my post).

The setting of this story takes place in the local branch of the Public Library. Children (ages 2-7) are gathering for a evening show-and-tell sponsored by the KC Ballet being given by an officer of that organization. Just as the magic of the presentation began with the kids reaching, what only can be described as pure estacy (“Oh, the pretty Ballet slippers! We love them!”), two ladies burst into the room whilst wheeling in two extremely handicapped women in their late 30s. For evidently an announcement of this merry-band of newcomers was required when one of the mentally-deficient women trumpeted her arrival with a very loud (>90 decibel) animal-like noise (I depicted it as similar to a Nubian Goat in full bleat). People were shocked into a pseudo-form of paralysis. Suddenly it was if an unseen weight decended upon the children. The joy was instantly evaporated. No, dearest reader, I might be calloused, but I’m not mean… it gets worse.

The “Learning Compromised” (LC) then began a 10 minute salvo of some extraneous communicative-form of a dialogue… LC #1: BLLLEEEAAAATTTTT! LC #2: Momma! Momma! Momma! (indiscernible) Ahhhhhhhhhhh!… ad infinitum. The Ballet Manager was beside herself. The crowd of parents simply looked at their feet. The air carried a clearly distinct virulent pheromone signalling utter discomfort (exactly the environment that I find fascinating).

The children, you ask? The children behaved in a strangly composed manner – as if to follow the cue of “if you don’t look at them, they are evidently not there”. No one laughed. No one stared. Everyone appeared as if they were respectfully, thoroughly frozen in fear. The thaw came when the criminals of this story (the “Handlers/Helpers” of the LC gang) felt the loud dialogue of animal noises and salad speech wasn’t enough. The second act took place when they allowed the LC twins to get out of their wheelchairs and onto the floor with the children. The discomfort hit its acme. The fear was no longer frozen, it was palpible as a clearly (and unfortunately disturbed) LC crawled towards the kids while engaged in an open-mouthed, saliva-strewn grunt (I envisioned a comparison to the movie, Braveheart, when one is supposed to produce a “war scream” whilst charging thy prey).

Allow me not to burden you with too much detail. The purpose of this post is directed towards those two ladies who are obviously very empathetic helpers to the two women who have been, unfortunately, offered a proverbial weak-hand of cards in the tough game of life. HOWEVER, if a child was permitted to act in the same manner as the LC twins, that parent would have been asked to leave the presentation. From an anthropological point-of-view, we are still beholden to our ancestral genetics that are hardwired to ascribe towards that of “tribe”. We feel propelled to act as if we ignore such anti-social behaviors from those who are incapable of being aware of trespassing upon social norms for fear of being seen as unfeeling. Yet we are caught in a social program mis-code of “the LCs are adults, yet they know not what they do”. Pure BUNK, I say! Are we to be held hostage to the irresponsibility of the handlers? How dare they assume we should quietly shoulder their rude allowances and sacrifice the anticipation and joy that was being experienced by our offspring. Why were the handlers not forced to place them back in their cages?!

For those readers, filled with bursting empathy and love for all humankind, find this post distasteful and heartless, I say that your house should be the next fieldtrip planned for the LC gang. From an olfactory indication identified during the presentation last night, you will need to be prepared with adult-sized diapers.

Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur (Even a god finds it hard to love and be wise at the same time)

Yes, I hear the “peep-peeps” already.