Baloney and Cheese

Baloney and Cheese

I have always thanked God that I had enlightened parents. They taught
my sister and me about diversity and tolerance, before it became
politically correct.

Living in a small town in Wyoming during the 50's era still holds fond
memories for me. My playground was a seemingly endless prairie. I was
constantly finding remnants of prehistoric animals long since turned to
stone as well as having had a collection of various lizards.

My fondest memory however is of a member of the Crow Indian Nation. His
name was William and he was considered to be a little slow or weird. My
schoolmates would tease him and parents always viewed him with
suspicion.

"You never know what he might do," was a constant topic of
conversation. I admit, at first I was a little afraid of 'what he might
do' and referred to him as stupid in front of my parents. Once.

Dad took me aside one day after hearing my comment.
"Do you know anything about him," my father asked.
"No," I replied. "But he talks funny."
"Well if you don't know him, how do you know what he's like?" He said.
"Don't you know that he has feelings just like you do?" "How would you
like it if people called you names?"

For once in my young life, I was stumped. I also experienced a sense of
guilt, but I didn't know what I had done wrong.

As I went through the next week of school, I thought about what dad had
said. I seemed to become more aware of the taunts of the other kids. I
also noticed that no one would eat lunch with him in the school
cafeteria.

One day, I saw William sitting in the cafeteria by himself. I took my
lunch over to where he was sitting and sat next to him.
"What did you bring for lunch?" I asked.
He looked into his lunch bag and appeared to be struggling. His eyes
would blink as he tried to utter the words.
"B-b-b-ba-loney a-a-nd ch-ch-eeese," he said. He looked at me and
smiled.
I tried to decipher what he was trying to say, He took the sandwich out
of his bag, opened it. "s-s-ee."
"Oh, baloney and cheese!" I said. He smiled.
I took out my sandwich and opened it.
"Me too, see." We both laughed.

After that experience, I did get to know William. We went through
elementary school together. During that time, he taught me about the
stories that he had grown up with listening to his parents and
grandparents talk of the old ways. He would sing songs in the old
tongue. It was the only time he didn't stutter.
He taught me the ancient art of finger weaving, which I still do from
time to time.
I learned that William wasn't slow at all. His stuttering left people
with the idea that he was.

We would go exploring together in the prairie. He knew of places to go
that I hadn't even begun to explore and showed me where a pollywog
(tadpole) pond was.

Once, we gathered a few pollywogs in a bucket then transferred them to
a large fish bowl. We watched as they lost their tails then turned into
frogs.

He knew of caves in the area, which I had seen, but was too afraid to
explore. There was a cave he knew by heart. It took awhile, but he
finally convinced me to go with him.
Don't worry, he had said, there's nothing in here, except maybe a
couple of bats.

Bats!

My friends in school were somewhat bewildered. I too started to get
teased and I understood what my father had said.

"Why are you hanging around him? Don't you know everyone is talking
behind your back. What's the matter with you," my best friend had
said.
It felt terrible being called names, as I had heard people talking
when William and I ate lunch together. No one else joined us.

I was confused. My friends knew me, why would they start talking about
me just because I had befriended William? I struggled with the idea of
loosing my friends whom I had grown up with and loosing William as a
friend.

William was more interesting. He knew things that my friends didn't. I
started to learn things that my friends wouldn't. I chose
William.

I often think about William and the kids who used to tease him. I feel
sorry for those who did not take the time to get to know him as I
did.
I also thank my father for instilling in me a sense of responsibility
towards those who's dignity many want to destroy, simply because they
are different.