Normal is a feeling.

Eleven-years-old wearing hearing-aids
I’d already passed through five normal grades.
My sixth year kids said I didn’t fit in . . .
that’s when their torturing did begin.
Tripped and called every name--vile and corrupt
I held my head high and wouldn’t give up.
Circled at recess one horrible day,
“You don’t belong here, freak! We’ll make you pay!”
I was stoned with rocks both large and small.
Airborne and flying, they came from them all.
Hit hard on my head, I fell tomy knees.
One friend pushed forward and suffered with me.
She yelled ‘til the teachers came running down.
I couldn’t speak . . . made a whimpering sound.
I then stayed inside ‘til fear crept away,
but never revealed who stoned me that day.
The first handicapped child to integrate,
Needed some friends but accepted my fate.
God guided me through that chaotic time.
Some who threw stones later were friends of mine.
Two scholarships came graduation day.
One of the stoners bounded up to say.
“I deeply regret what I did on that day.
You never got even . . . that is your way.
Please say you’ll forgive me, I cannot hide.
Do share the beauty that you have inside.”
I hugged her. “Gail, I forgave what you did
Many years ago when we were still just kids.”
We parted, our lives never crossed again.
I thank God for mercy daily . . . as then.