Read Online Kevin Kling's Holiday Inn by Kevin Kling - Free Book Online Page B

in his eye has both arms in casts, but manages to get some cake on top of his foot. The kid who threw the cake has to sit and wait because his legs are up against the wall across the room. The foot flicks the cake and pieces hit everyone and the fight is on. Cake flying everywhere. Gary is screaming, “Hit me! Hit me!”
    The Little Prince Charmin is screaming, “No! No! STOP IT! STOP IT!”
    But we can’t. Soon paper plates are whizzing through the air. Cake in the hair, down people’s prosthetics. Nurses rush in.
    “Stop it. Stop it!”
    The action comes to a standstill, but I sense there is just enough time to throw one more paper plate. I let it fly, and we all watch as the plate gently floats across the room and scores a direct hit on right forearm of The Little Prince Charmin.
    “Got ya. Got ya,” I yell.
    But the room is silent. Everyone stares as The Little Prince Charmin lets out a blood-curdling scream.
    Gary whispers, “Now you’ve done it, Sandy.”
    The nurses fly into action, putting The Little Prince Charmin on a gurney and rushing him out of the room. Another nurse calls for a doctor to meet them in another room, stat.
    The nurses tell us quietly to go to our beds while they clean up. And we do. And pray for The Little Prince.
    That was the day I learned what hemophiliacs are and why you can’t hit them, even with a paper plate, because they might bleed to death. I also knew that’s why The Little Prince did what he pleased. Everyone was afraid of him, afraid of hurting him. At Shriners Hospital for Crippled Children, you learn fast that mobility and dexterity have little to do with a person’s standing in the pecking order.
    Usually it is the other way around. It certainly is in the outside world. We all knew this, and used it constantly to our benefit. We all knew when to cry, when to attack, when to throw a tantrum, and how good it made others feel to make us feel better. We also knew there were those who feared us and thought we were weak. Beware them and bring them to the attention of the others. We could suss out an adult in a sentence or two. I did. Depending on how someone commented on my arm I knew what to expect.
    “What did you do to your arm?” This suggests that I am to blame for my condition, an assumption that must be corrected as quickly as possible.
    “Nothing. I was born this way.” Now it’s an act of God, and this evens the playing field. Then to get them in your debt, follow it with, “It’s okay, I’m used to it.” Now you’ve let them know not only that you’re okay, but so was their question.
    If someone says, “What happened to your arm?” jump straight to, “It’s always been a little smaller,” because they already feel a bit compassionate and there’s no need rub it in.
    Any words like “shriveled,” “deformed,” “crippled,” “withered” always have a negative connotation. It also shows they think they know why I was born this way. Even though I don’t know what “happened,” I make these people pay a little, simply by feeding into their fears. Make it worse than they already think it is, have a hard time with a simple task, struggle with a button or a shoelace. That does the trick.
    Other children ask me about my “little” arm. I like the word “little,” which makes no moral assumptions, so I tell them the facts and they always seemed to handle it well.
    If someone is too bold and reaches for my arm, I pull away and it hold it like it’s very precious and delicate.
    But if someone is afraid of me hurting it, I’ll show how strong it is. I’ll pinch their finger, but not very hard, and say, “See?”
    “Oh yes,” they’ll say, “very strong.”
    And everything is fine.
    Don’t try any of this on a nurse, a doctor, or your parents. New nurses maybe, other kids’ parents for sure, but never a doctor. They don’t put up with it.
    In a way, I feel at home. Not in the hospital but in this community. At Shriners Hospital for