When I was a little boy ..

... barely 10 years old, there was a boy in my class. Let us call him Henry. He struggled with personal relationships and communication. Though I have no cause to believe, now as an adult, that he was handicapped in any way, at that time we all mocked him for his inability to express himself properly and thought him special. 

One of the many, many days of teasing and taunting, I saw Henry exit the school and walk towards his mother, his head slumped. We, the collective cruelty that only children are capable of, had made fun of him, jeered at him and had singled him out for scorn in a class of 25. 

His mother, a relatively young lady, looked for him in the crowd of tired kids. She found him and her frozen smile unclenched in a show of wide teeth and admiration; something she had practised unconsciously no doubt many times. Henry struggled with life and we all should have known that this made a tense, charged time at home for the parents. We did not care. Children don't really care much for the plight of adults; not in those lands. 

As soon as they made eye contact, I saw her whole figure fall onto itself. Like weight that has no where to go but down, the ease of her moment had been broken by the chore of reconciliation. She had the task of reconciling, for her son whom she no doubt loved more than life itself, each day and today was one of the worst days her son had lived through... It was hard, relentless, crushing work. It broke her heart a little, day by day. 

On an evening like this, it probably broke her heart a lot. 

I saw her ask him what the matter was, saw her resignation and hurt when he wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't have had to explain. 

I will never forget that moment. I use it to ease myself into the Zen like moments I treat myself to when I am surrounded by a darkness imaginary and when the only sounds I hear are the murmurs of insanity. 

It serves me, and hopefully my entire class of 24, right to live through waking life like this after having displayed such abject inhumanity. 

Henry, where ever you are, I know you were better and smarter than me and I thank you for it. I hope your mother's heart is aching less now that you have undoubtedly made her proud.. 

Dedicated to L'Ecole St Honore D'Eylau, 

La 18eme 

Paris