He can't help what he is... but for God's sake, have some respect! He's a human being!"
The restaurant grew silent. I cursed myself for losing control and creating a scene,
and I tried not to look at the boy as I paid my check and walked out without touching my food.
I felt ashamed for both of us. How strange it is that people of honest feelings and sensibility,
who would not take advantage of a man born without arms or legs or eyes—
how such people think nothing of abusing a man born with low intelligence.
It infuriated me to remember that not too long ago I—like this boy—had foolishly played the clown.
And I had almost forgotten. Only a short time ago, I learned that people laughed at me.
Now I can see that unknowingly I joined them in laughing at myself.
That hurts most of all. I have often reread my early progress reports and seen the illiteracy, the childish naïveté,
the mind of low intelligence peering from a dark room, through the keyhole, at the dazzling light outside.
In my dreams and memories I've seen Charlie smiling happily and uncertainly at what people around him were saying.
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