Simple

I was 12 years old when I saw him. It’s been decades since. I can’t recall his name and for some reason that upsets me.

I was at a classmate’s house. Her father had hired a contractor to sod their lawn, both front and back yards. The contractor dropped off two fellows, along with a truckload of sod, and drove away.

The younger of the two workers came to the back door and asked my friend to turn on the water to the outside spigot. The worker wasn’t much older than me, 16 at the most. My friend dashed to the basement to turn it on.

My friend seemed familiar with the pair. I’d guessed they’d done work for her family in the past. She told me that the older of the pair, a man who I’d guess to be in his 40s, was prone to seizures. Perhaps I looked alarmed, because she reassured me that if he had a seizure the boy would know exactly what to do. “The kid will just put a stick in his mouth and sit on top of him until it’s over.” “A stick in his mouth!?” “Yes,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “to keep him from swallowing his tongue.” Swallowing his tongue? I’ll have to ask mom about this later, I thought.

Then my friend lowered her voice and said, “Watch this.” She took me outside and called the man by name. He turned around and I noticed that he had the look of a simple man. “Simple” was a term I’d heard my grandfather use. The current phrase, at the time, was “mentally retarded.” She asked him, “Why are you working with the kid here?” He looked at the ground and stammered, “Cu-cu-cu-cuz I’m du-dumb and cu-cuz I’m st-st-st-stupid.” She turned, grabbed my arm and pulled me back inside.

In a split second my brain conjured a vision of this man as a boy and a life of abuse at the hands of someone, maybe a stepparent, maybe a caretaker in an institution, just surely not his own flesh and blood. I could see him being made to state that he was dumb and that he was stupid until he could repeat it on command, like a trained pet. I pictured him standing there, head down, just a little boy mind you, stammering out those words. My heart ached.

Throughout that morning I’d glance out at the man. I began to marvel at the flawless skill with which he laid the sod, cutting with an artist’s hand around the curves and corners of the walkways and flowerbed areas. He made it look so simple.