My Cardboard Balcony

The Village Idiot by Belinda Roddie The village idiot fell in love with the stone-hearted maiden who lived in the cottage on the farthest end of the town alone, never wanting to take a wife or husband. But the idiot, being, well, idiotic, could not stop her heart from beating manically each time she walked past the maiden's home, wanting to play a wacky tune on her trumpet or dance a foolish jig to elicit at least a giggle from the young dame. But nothing would persuade the maiden to even step out of her cottage to have tea with the poor village idiot, heart pummeled and sore.

The instructor who took care of the fifth grade class this year was a stocky, stubbled, and bespectacled twenty-four-year-old man who had once been a high school classmate of mine. I was the assistant principal at that time - the youngest ever hired in the history of the district, in fact - and found it quite interesting how he avoided eye contact with me. When his first evaluation came up, he sat at the table across from me, staring at the floor.