I work at a home for people with intellectual disabilities. There are only two wonderful residents in my particular home.
The other day Bill drew a picture. He takes great pride in
his pictures. We hang many of them on the fridge and even made a picture binder
so people can flip through and admire his creations. He seemed to be working on
this particular picture very diligently. He chose the exact colors that he
wanted—maroon, and brown. In the end, he slammed his crayon down, looked up,
smiled, and laughed his rye laugh. It sounds more like a cackle. I picked up
his picture, looked at it, and told him that it was pretty. Then I made a poor
choice. I asked him what it was. He pointed at the maroon and brown splotches,
“It’s Lacey!” He proclaimed this with great pride. Unfortunatley, Lacey (in a
maroon shirt, by the way) did not take his Lacey-esque splotches as a
compliment, “NOOOO, NOOO, NOOOO!” After the “no’s” she went into hissing
spitwords under her breath. He still looked proud as the ice began to crack under my feet. It was a
lose-lose situation. If I told Lacey she didn't look so splotchy, Bill would feel
bad. If I told Bill it was beautiful, Lacey would take offense.
So I sat and looked
from Bill... to Lacey... and back. And Bill sat, smiled, and looked from his picture... to Lacey... and back. And Lacey sat and hissed spitwords at the floor.
*Names are changed!!
