He looked like he may not be running on all cylinders. His appearance said he may be a few fries short of a happy meal. Harmless, but hardly someone worthwhile, much less, important.
How sad that I could dismiss a human life, a co-bearer of that divine spark, so easily. Flippantly, even.
He looked even a bit Down Syndrome, mentally short, which is nice enough. Several mentally handicapped people have considered me a friend and while I never felt camaraderie with them, I firmly believe God, in their life story, gave them less of one thing so He could fit more of another. Love and acceptance and warmth seem to flow out of mentally handicapped people so much more readily and in such copious amounts as to be shameful to those of us who consider ourselves to be completely there, mentally speaking.
Suffice it to say, I judged.
That book’s cover just said “don’t bother”.
And then he opened his mouth.
It shows how shallow I am that it took the man speaking to garner even my grudging recognition.
It shows how great his talent that by opening his mouth he took, by force and without remedy, my respect and adulation, and claimed it as his own.