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Authors: Shane Dunphy
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see how we respond to things, gauging our weak spots.’
The eyes of the two women turned to Lonnie, who was spreading jam on a piece of scone. He didn’t look up.
‘That’s kind of cynical,’ Susan said. ‘Aren’t we meant to accentuate the positive and so on?’
‘I’m all for that when it makes sense to do so,’ I said. ‘And right now I believe we’d be better off battening down the hatches and preparing for an onslaught.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Tush said.
‘Me neither,’ I said.
Lonnie grinned at everyone. ‘So when do the little darlings arrive?’
They arrived all too quickly, and we started the day with large circle time. Susan had flung the windows open and the sound of birds singing in the trees drifted in. With the walls fresh and white, the broken toys cleared out, the room seemed bright, airy and full of possibility. The kids sat in a ring, the staff dotted at various points among them.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ I said. ‘I want to welcome you all here today, and to tell you that it is a special day. Can any of you tell me why?’
‘It’s my birthday,’ Ross said, raising a crutch into the air as if it were an extension of his arm.
‘It’s not your birthday, Ross,’ Susan said. ‘You were born in November.’
‘Happy birthday to me!’ Ross sang, swinging his legs in time to the melody.
‘Is it Christmas?’ Mitzi asked, smiling sweetly.
‘I think we might have mentioned to you that Christmas was coming,’ I said patiently. ‘I dare say you’ve noticed the ads on the TV, too.’
‘ Holidays are coming, holidays are coming ,’ Gilbert sang very quietly, but soon all the children (and Lonnie) had joined in merrily.
‘No – you still haven’t got it,’ I said, when the group had settled again.
‘Little fella?’ Jeffrey pointed at Lonnie.
‘His name is Lonnie,’ I said. ‘And, yes, he is part of the reason today is special.’
‘That little man is a midget,’ Milandra said vehemently. ‘Like in Willie Wonka .’
‘A little Oompa Loompa.’ Mitzi sighed. ‘Daddy, can I have an Oompa Loompa all for my very own?’
‘D’you want to hear me sing the Oompa Loompa song?’ Lonnie said, as if he thought this was the most sensible suggestion anyone could possibly make.
I looked at him, agog. I had never encountered him being quite so tolerant before and, as with the children, I had a sneaking suspicion he was lulling me into a false sense of security.
‘Yeah! Sing it!’ Rufus said. ‘Just like in that film!’
‘You want to hear it?’ Lonnie said.
‘Yeah!’
‘You all sure?’
‘Yeah!’ from all sides.
‘Well …’ Lonnie stood up in his chair as if it were a stage. He spread his arms out, his legs together and his back straight, just like the Oompa Loompas in the classic 1970s film.
The children cheered and whooped. Lonnie cleared his throat. ‘Here I go …’
All eyes were on him. Then: ‘No.’ Lonnie shook his head and looked unhappy. ‘Sorry. I won’t do it. Because it hurts my feelings.’
The kids stopped their cat-calling and whooping and went silent.
‘You – what’s your name?’ He pointed at Rufus.
‘None a your business,’ Rufus snapped, looking just as hurt and angry as Lonnie.
‘His name is Rufus,’ I said.
‘Rufus, do you know your colours?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, do I have orange skin?’ Lonnie asked. There was no anger in his voice: he was teaching the children a lesson, and I was interested to see how well they took it, and how much they understood of what he would say to them.
Rufus squinted at my friend, then shook his head. No, Lonnie certainly did not have orange skin.
‘What’s your name?’ He nodded at Mitzi.
‘I am Mitzi. Mitzi, that’s me.’ The child smirked.
‘Do I have blue hair, Mitzi?’
‘Oh, no. You have lovely hair, little man. So soft and silky.’
‘You,’ at Gus.
‘What?’ Gus shot back.
‘Do I work in a chocolate factory?’
‘I
The eyes of the two women turned to Lonnie, who was spreading jam on a piece of scone. He didn’t look up.
‘That’s kind of cynical,’ Susan said. ‘Aren’t we meant to accentuate the positive and so on?’
‘I’m all for that when it makes sense to do so,’ I said. ‘And right now I believe we’d be better off battening down the hatches and preparing for an onslaught.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Tush said.
‘Me neither,’ I said.
Lonnie grinned at everyone. ‘So when do the little darlings arrive?’
They arrived all too quickly, and we started the day with large circle time. Susan had flung the windows open and the sound of birds singing in the trees drifted in. With the walls fresh and white, the broken toys cleared out, the room seemed bright, airy and full of possibility. The kids sat in a ring, the staff dotted at various points among them.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ I said. ‘I want to welcome you all here today, and to tell you that it is a special day. Can any of you tell me why?’
‘It’s my birthday,’ Ross said, raising a crutch into the air as if it were an extension of his arm.
‘It’s not your birthday, Ross,’ Susan said. ‘You were born in November.’
‘Happy birthday to me!’ Ross sang, swinging his legs in time to the melody.
‘Is it Christmas?’ Mitzi asked, smiling sweetly.
‘I think we might have mentioned to you that Christmas was coming,’ I said patiently. ‘I dare say you’ve noticed the ads on the TV, too.’
‘ Holidays are coming, holidays are coming ,’ Gilbert sang very quietly, but soon all the children (and Lonnie) had joined in merrily.
‘No – you still haven’t got it,’ I said, when the group had settled again.
‘Little fella?’ Jeffrey pointed at Lonnie.
‘His name is Lonnie,’ I said. ‘And, yes, he is part of the reason today is special.’
‘That little man is a midget,’ Milandra said vehemently. ‘Like in Willie Wonka .’
‘A little Oompa Loompa.’ Mitzi sighed. ‘Daddy, can I have an Oompa Loompa all for my very own?’
‘D’you want to hear me sing the Oompa Loompa song?’ Lonnie said, as if he thought this was the most sensible suggestion anyone could possibly make.
I looked at him, agog. I had never encountered him being quite so tolerant before and, as with the children, I had a sneaking suspicion he was lulling me into a false sense of security.
‘Yeah! Sing it!’ Rufus said. ‘Just like in that film!’
‘You want to hear it?’ Lonnie said.
‘Yeah!’
‘You all sure?’
‘Yeah!’ from all sides.
‘Well …’ Lonnie stood up in his chair as if it were a stage. He spread his arms out, his legs together and his back straight, just like the Oompa Loompas in the classic 1970s film.
The children cheered and whooped. Lonnie cleared his throat. ‘Here I go …’
All eyes were on him. Then: ‘No.’ Lonnie shook his head and looked unhappy. ‘Sorry. I won’t do it. Because it hurts my feelings.’
The kids stopped their cat-calling and whooping and went silent.
‘You – what’s your name?’ He pointed at Rufus.
‘None a your business,’ Rufus snapped, looking just as hurt and angry as Lonnie.
‘His name is Rufus,’ I said.
‘Rufus, do you know your colours?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, do I have orange skin?’ Lonnie asked. There was no anger in his voice: he was teaching the children a lesson, and I was interested to see how well they took it, and how much they understood of what he would say to them.
Rufus squinted at my friend, then shook his head. No, Lonnie certainly did not have orange skin.
‘What’s your name?’ He nodded at Mitzi.
‘I am Mitzi. Mitzi, that’s me.’ The child smirked.
‘Do I have blue hair, Mitzi?’
‘Oh, no. You have lovely hair, little man. So soft and silky.’
‘You,’ at Gus.
‘What?’ Gus shot back.
‘Do I work in a chocolate factory?’
‘I
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