Frank Spencer
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Actually, I'm with Frank and a few others on this QOTW. I wasn't going to stick a reply in as a lot of these tales are pretty much just bullying stories and I'm not much of a fan of bullies.

So I'll tell you about the weird kids in my village.

We used to have a care-home in the village that took in young-adult Downs Syndrome kids. These were typical Downs Syndrome kids. Big heads, flat faces and slanted eyes. They would often be seen around the village helping old folk out in their gardens or clearing litter up on the beach. A few of them used to come to the pub every Thursday night with one of the carers. A couple weren't allowed alcohol as it messed with other drugs they were taking but the majority were allowed a couple of pints. They used to like to watch the sport or watch us locals play darts. One of them was actually on one of the local darts teams - he wasn't very good but he enjoyed being part of a "normal" darts team and, being the village, winning didn't matter too much - it's the social aspect why most of us play darts up here. He was treated pretty much the same as any other team member. We'd cheer when he got a decent score. Call him a pratt when he missed really badly. He loved his darts.

These kids had been part of our village for years and a lot of them had grown up together in their care home. Either abandoned by their parents to didn't want a "mong" living with them or given up by parents who really couldn't cope with a "special" child. Whatever the reason they were part of our daily life and everyone kept an eye out for them and made sure they were OK.

But then the care-home closed down. A lot of money was need to upgrade the place to new standards and the owners didn't have the money and couldn't raise it. So our kids were split up and moved all over the county. It was a bloody crying shame.

I still see one of them occasionally. He's bright enough to use public transport to get here from about 30 miles away and every couple of weeks he comes down for a couple of pints and a gane of darts. We make sure that he gets the last bus home and the local bus drivers all know him and they help out as well.

I can remember talking to him when the home closed down. He was pretty upset at being split up from all the people he grew up with and he knew he was going to miss the village terribly. You see - we didn't take the piss or call him names the way others did in other towns. I can remember him looking at his old home and saying:

"People call me stupid for having Downs but I'm not as stupid as the bastards who closed my home down."

Aye - he might have been retarded but he wasn't stupid.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Wed 24 Jan 2007, 17:23, Reply)