A girl answered the door. Clearly she had Down syndrome.
She took one look at me and screamed at the top of her
lungs:
“YOU MUSS BE TIFF-A-KNEEEE!!! YOU MUSS BE
TIFF-A-KNEEEE!!! YOU ARE SOOO BOOTY-FULL! YOU
ARE SOOO BOOTY-FULL!”
She started running in circles in the living room,
throwing her hands in the air and screaming as loud as she
could:
“EVERYONE COME SEE! TIFF-A-KNEE HERE, SHE IS
SO BOOTY-FULL!! [deep breath] TIFF-A-KNEE HERE, SHE
IS SO BOOTY-FULL!! [deep breath] EVERYONE COME
SEE! TIFF-A-KNEE HERE, SHE IS SO BOOTY-FULL!!”
All I could think to myself is, I gotta come over here every
day. ͷis is wonderful. ͷis is how people should greet people.
This is what I’m talkin’ ’bout.
As she was running in circles, screaming at the top of her
lungs, the living room mlled up with all sorts of diĉerent
handicapped people. It was like—I don’t even know how to
describe it. Like, in that Rudolph Christmas special, the
Island of Misfit Toys.
ͳere was a dude in a wheelchair, who had this goofy
smile that did not change one bit the whole time I was
there. ͳere was an older lady in there, she had Down
syndrome, she was smiling and clapping. ͳere was a young
kid with his hands over his ears rocking back and forth on
the sofa, but he was smiling, too. Roscoe came down the
stairs, and he looked a little annoyed:
ann
(Ann)
#1