168 Children Like Them

There I was in the Principal's office, waiting. He walked in and sat at his desk.

"How can I help you?" he asked, avoiding eye contact.

"Do you know what's unusual about me being the Principal's office?" I asked. He didn't. "This time--you're the one who's in trouble."

"How so?" he asked smugly.

Moments earlier, I had been in a Special Ed teacher's conference about my son, whose diagnosis makes him prone to inappropriate outbursts--shouting, head-banging, and other maladaptive behaviors.

"Children like them..." she had begun. Her introduction, to whatever message she had for me, had the force of continuity with the universe, as she rubbed her third-trimester pregnant belly gently.

"Children...like them?" I said.

"My children. My class. It's mostly Down syndrome and mild spectrum. There's not much trouble from children like them."

Like them.

"Your son can't be here, disrupting my classroom."

"This is Special Ed, right?"

"Right, but there are limits."

"Your limits?"

"Reasonable limits. I'm afraid you'll have to find another place for him."

"That's why the petition?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered. "From many parents, to remove your son."

I smiled. "I see you're pregnant."

"Yes. We've waited a long time, too. Now it's so close. We're very excited. I start maternity leave next week."

"That's great."

"It is. So I hope you'll understand I'd like my last week here to be business as usual. Without the commotion and disruption."

"That would be nice. All of your children here, the children like them, so quiet and peaceful and docile, as specially babysat as only Special Ed can."

"Sarcasm?"

"No. The law. Would you like to accompany me to your Principal's office?"

"No. I'm sure you two can work out your son's removal. I have my children to deal with."

I looked at her, mustering a flat affect to contain my rage.

"I sure hope your baby's normal." And that's when she slapped my face hard. It was a spinal reflex.

And while what she thought she had heard was every expectant parent's paranoia--how karma's favorite blossom is irony--what I had said, in truth, was my most ardent loving wish for her and every other expectant mother, everywhere--even her--knowing what I know.

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BONUS CONTENT: DAD JOKES

(When does a joke become a dad joke? Well, during the delivery it becomes apparent.)

(A person who tells Dad jokes but isn't a Dad is a faux pas.)

Driving past a pasture with cows:

• Dad: Look a flock of cows.
• Kids: Not a flock, a herd.
• Dad: Herd of what?
• Kids: Herd of cows, Dad.
• Dad: Of course, I've heard of cows--there's a flock of 'em right there. And that one is the greatest one of them all.
• Kids: How so?
• Dad: That one is out standing in his field.

Well, that's all for now, because my clock is hungry; it went back four seconds!

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

For Father's Day, Sunday, June 16, Day 168 of the Story-a-Day Challenge

366 WORDS (without A/N)

Title-accompaniment photo was AI-generated (Artificial Incarceration) but the Americans with Disabilities Act was not.

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There are currently three surviving Vocal writers still participating in the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge:

• L.C. Schäfer, challenge originator

• Rachel Deeming

• Gerard DiLeo (some other guy)

Read them. Support them. And don't take no shit from nobody!