Gary's Green Bike

In the small town of Drummond where I grew up, the population fluctuated somewhere between 324 and 328. Those numbers raised slightly as I made my way through Drummond Public Schools, but it was always a tiny town. In a town that size, you can be sure that everybody knows everybody. And somehow, everyone knew you were not in the place where you told your mother you were going to be. But that's a story for later.

This story is about a man named Gary. At the time, he was about twenty-five to thirty years old. By today's terms Gary was developmentally delayed. He didn't have Down's Syndrome, he just thought and moved a little slower than the rest of us. Back in the mid-seventies, terms like developmentally delayed, and others like it, did not exist yet. Those individuals were labeled slow, special, or retarded. (Keep in mind, I don't like the word retarded when it refers to a special needs person. Don't send hate mail because I am using that word in this story.) Gary lived almost directly across the street from me and he rode the coolest bike I had ever seen. It was one of those old cruiser bikes that, if found at an auction today, would be worth hundreds of dollars. I didn't know that. I just knew it was dark, beautiful green, bright shiny chrome and sailed smoothly down our block. I had seen Gary for a few weeks, but I am shy, so I didn't ever say hello to him. When I had seen him enough times and he had seen me enough times, I finally said hello. His response was a very loud "Well, hello there!" My first thought was, this guy is a hoot. He has a loud cartoon-like voice and he rides the coolest bike that has ever been made. I like him already. At the age of four, I hadn't fully developed my sense of what made people the way they were. I also didn't know that not everyone thought about things the way I did. I didn't know until I was older that people were nice to Gary on the surface, but secretly avoided him because he was different. It wasn't until some of the older neighborhood kids saw me talking to Gary that they stopped to inform me that Gary was retarded and I shouldn't get too close to him. This threw me for a loop, because Gary had been nothing but a terrific, loud, funny, bike riding neighbor to me. Why in the world would I not talk to him when he came around? It seemed fishy to me, so into the house I went. My mom was busy vacuuming the living room when I opened the front door and hopped on the couch. I waited until she was finished and turn off the Hoover. I asked mom if Gary was retarded. Her eyes bugged out and she raised her voice telling me never to use that word around Gary. Better yet, don't use it at all. I nearly cried because I instantly knew that the word 'retarded' was possibly the worst thing that had ever come out of my mouth. She asked why I would say such things. I told her that some kids told me I shouldn't talk to Gary because he was...was...what do I say if I can't say the word you said I couldn't say? Mom realized I had never encountered anyone like Gary before so she laid it out it for me the best way that you can explain things like that to a four year old. She told me that sometimes people are born with problems. Some have brain problems, some have body problems, and some have inside problems, but I needed to treat everyone like I would want to be treated. (Thanks for the golden rule lesson, mom!) I remember sitting on the couch for awhile thinking this over. I made up my mind that I would like whomever I wanted to like for whatever reason I wanted to like them and no one could tell me otherwise. I went back outside and saw Gary sitting on his family's big front porch swing, which was another reason Gary was super cool in my eyes. I waved to him and he came over to our yard. I told him that I thought he was great and I'm glad we were friends. His response was, and still is, one of my favorite phrases. "That's what I was sayin'." After we moved to a new house across town (a mere four blocks away), I would still see Gary all the time. He was riding his sweet bike and I was riding my fiery red bike with the banana seat decorated with flames. I thought his bike was perfect for him and mine was perfect for me since I was a red hot daredevil. The early encounters with Gary and the people who loved him, the people who tolerated him, and the people who foolishly avoided him would forever influence how I dealt with everyone. Meet people where they are in life. If they have blond hair or brown skin or one arm or slow speech, they are who they are and I accept them for that. After that, if they give me a reason not to like them anymore, then I will rid them from my life. To paraphrase a Dougie MacLean song, you lose the friends you need to lose and you find others along the way. Gary was my friend and always will be. That's what I was sayin'.

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