UNSPOKEN
Diana Dunsworth Baker
7-1-2013
*cover photograph by Eric C. Baker
“Now where is this place we are going to?” I asked my husband, Chuck.
It was a cold, windy, wet December night and we were headed north.
“It’s in a little town with a great restaurant that serves the best fried chicken in the civilized world. But we aren’t going there. We are going to a group home system for adults with disabilities.”
“Ah,” I replied.
I had been teaching special education for almost 20 years at this point in my life. Mostly I had worked with students who had learning difficulties. The government preferred for these students to be labeled with the term, “Learning Disabled.” I guess it sounded more serious to the powers that be that funded special education. But I had not worked with seriously involved kids all that much. Excitement mounted in my heart.
At long last we arrived at the facility, which was really quite nice…like a pleasant little village of houses that were all the same in size, design and color.
Chuck and I entered a very large multi-purpose room in a building set aside from the little houses. There was no stage but it had lots of electrical outlets and that was a good thing. Harvey and the Wallbangers were going to be performing for this group of souls and Chuck was the lead guitar player. It was a Christmas show. And they were ready.
In the center of the room was a large and beautiful Christmas tree, draped with hand-made ornaments and dazzling little lights. All around the room were Christmas decorations, bright and beautiful, designed from the hearts of children. It was very festive.
As the guys in the band set the stage so to speak, I noticed a young man standing close by. He was hopping from foot to foot, excitement spreading over his sweet face. He knew who these guys were and what was coming. He could hardly stand to wait for it. I caught his eye and he ambled over to me.
“I love this. I love this music,” he stated in a rather flat tone.
“Cool,” I replied, smiling happily at this friendly person.
Moments passed.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Paul. My name is Paul. Do you have a name?”
“My name is Diana.”
Paul began to tap his foot with impatience. “Are they gonna play, “Pretty Woman?" They always play, “Pretty Woman,” it's my favorite song."
“I bet they do. Do you want me to make sure they do?” I chuckled.
“No,” answered Paul, “they won’t forget. Not when they see I am here.”
I nodded.
Paul wandered away and the room seemed to burst with clatter. In trouped countless young adults. With quickness of wheel, many sped in in wheelchairs. All were dressed in their very best outfits. Young women had bows in their hair and most of the young men had on ties. They looked exceptionally darling.
