Carlos doesn’t like kids; he says they’re loud and dirty and
obnoxious and the only thing he likes about them is when I am asked if I like
children and I say:
“Yes. Deep-fried with a side of Ranch dressing.”
But I digress. Carlos was set to translate at the courthouse
here in Camden and I dropped him off on my way to work. He knows the building
very well and finds his way around with ease. The courts were slightly back up
so he sat on a bench in the hallway waiting for the lawyer and client to be called
for their hearing.
As he sat there, two screaming girls were running amok in
the hallway and finally their mother put the kibosh on the shenanigans. So,
they walked to the bench where Carlos sat and began talking to him:
“What is that?”
“My cane.”
“What’s it for?”
“It helps me get around because I can’t see.”
“You can’t see?”
“Nope.”
And that started a long game of how many fingers am I holding
up, until one girl asked him how he got to the courthouse:
“Did you drive?”
“No, someone dropped me off.”
“How did you get up here.”
And he talked about counting steps and listening to the
sounds in the hallways to find the elevators and the stairs and the courtroom
doors, and those little girls sat with him and questioned him and studied him
and chatted with him learned a little something from him about being
differently abled.
I said:
“See you do like kids.”
“No I don’t.”
“You do because I would have asked to have them fried and served
with Ranch.”
And I wasn’t wrong. But he is far sweeter and more patient
with kids than he likes to let on.
He’s really a sweetheart. |