01-04-2007, 08:54 PM
Mainstreaming is the preposterous idea that retards would somehow benefit from being in a classroom full of regular students.
Around the 4th grade or so, we had a short, round, frightening looking retarded beast girl in the class. Her hair was all curly and greasy and disgusting, with a bit of a hunchback and a constant runny nose. I was a fairly quiet kid, so my teacher apparently trusted me. So they had me sit with this pig and hold her hand to help her write. I didn’t want to have anything to do with this thing. It wasn’t even that she was retarded, it was that she was hideously ugly and smelled like a combination of dusty american cheese and diarrhea. Even at 9 years old, I knew I had no desire to be that close to a fat ugly chick, regardless of her mental capabilities.
So whenever nobody was watching, I would squeeze her stubby little hand as hard as I could as she tried to figure out how to hold a pencil. Of course, she never said anything and this continued for weeks.
Looking back, I guess the right thing to do is to feel bad about it. But I actually did her a favor by showing her not to trust everybody you meet, and that people are not always going to be so nicey nice to you your whole life just because they feel sorry for you and your physical fuckedupness.
If she knew how, I'm sure she would have thanked me.
Around the 4th grade or so, we had a short, round, frightening looking retarded beast girl in the class. Her hair was all curly and greasy and disgusting, with a bit of a hunchback and a constant runny nose. I was a fairly quiet kid, so my teacher apparently trusted me. So they had me sit with this pig and hold her hand to help her write. I didn’t want to have anything to do with this thing. It wasn’t even that she was retarded, it was that she was hideously ugly and smelled like a combination of dusty american cheese and diarrhea. Even at 9 years old, I knew I had no desire to be that close to a fat ugly chick, regardless of her mental capabilities.
So whenever nobody was watching, I would squeeze her stubby little hand as hard as I could as she tried to figure out how to hold a pencil. Of course, she never said anything and this continued for weeks.
Looking back, I guess the right thing to do is to feel bad about it. But I actually did her a favor by showing her not to trust everybody you meet, and that people are not always going to be so nicey nice to you your whole life just because they feel sorry for you and your physical fuckedupness.
If she knew how, I'm sure she would have thanked me.