Fat Bald Retarded Kid

Today at the master planned community pool there was a fat bald retarded kid. All the master planned community parents were wondering "What's with the fat bald retarded kid?" Nothing overt, mind you. Just a community vibe, you know? All their crazy colored floaties & inner tubes and wild family adventures tended to discreetly drift away from the fat bald retarded kid. I am a magnet for this kind of thing. The fat bald retarded kid was all up in my face showing me some sweet karate kicks. His dad was hyper-conscious of the fact that I had not solicited this parade of karate. I waved him off. “He’s fine. Fine. No problem.” I said. In some inexplicable emergence of selflessness, I wanted to do something for the fat bald retarded kid’s dad. I don’t know what. Wash his car or make him an origami crane. Buy him a beer.

Why don’t they sell beers at the master planned community pool? Who do I talk to about this?

I said “What’s your name Bruce Lee?” and he gave me an emphatic “ZACK!” It could’ve been “Zach” but it was expressed with such urgency that I’m going with “ZACK!”. I said “Hello Zack. This is my son Jackson. He does not possess your skills in any of the Asian cultural combat systems, so please spare him the varied harms you might bring.” Zack squinted. Jackson looked at me like I was making him talk to a fat bald retarded kid. I interrupted their awkward silence by introducing Lucy. “He looks crazy!” Lucy chimed and I thought: this blog is writing itself.

I don’t have any moral for this story. Just a revelation of a kind. Something like a discovery of a hitherto unknown facet of my inner geography. Remember all that pop psychology smack from the 80s about healing your Inner Child? No? Google your Inner Child (How could I NOT say it?). I don’t know about you but when I see John Bradshaw I want to punch him in the face.
I think that perhaps I have an Inner Fat Bald Retarded Kid. I can’t say that he needs to be healed or relieved of his shame or made whole. If anything, he just wants someone to watch him do some sweet karate kicks, to be in some way part of the master plan.