Memory of a gentle heart…

By Ivan Morgan

When I was little all grownups were pretty much the same. Parents, grandparents, teachers – all distant and bossy.
Except for one.
Her name was Dallas, and I think of her from time to time, even though she died when I was very young.
She was a relative who, while an old woman, was far and away my favourite grownup. To this day I can see her sunny face shining down at me, her greying blonde hair dancing in the breeze.
I hated going to my grandparents. Suffice it to say they were not typical. They were formal and stuffy. My grandmother was very regal. Going to her house meant wearing a white shirt, tie, jacket, grey flannels, and black leather lace up shoes. Shorts if it were summertime. Clothes designed to make little boys uncomfortable.
The only thing that took the sting out of an afternoon at my grandparent’s house was Dallas. If she was also visiting (as she often was) then everything was going to be great.
She understood me. She wanted to do the things I wanted to do (which wasn’t sit still and be quiet). Like me she couldn’t stand cucumber sandwiches. She always had candy in her purse. If I knew where there was a dead bird or a wasp’s nest in the garden, she wanted to see it. While very young, I was old enough to not even suggest I’d found stuff like that to most grownups. They would get upset and I would be kept inside while the poor old gardener was sent out to deal with it.
Like I said, no fun.
Even today I can see her rushing down the front steps with her arms out, laughing and coming to smother me in hugs, kisses, and giggles. All that and I still liked her!
I grew up, and forgot about her, as kids do.
Decades later I was having supper with my Mom when something prompted me to remember her. I asked Mother whatever happened to Dallas?
“She died dear, when you were still quite young. Your father and I never told you because, as I said, you were very young.”
How sad. I started to tell Mother about how much I had adored Dallas. Mother put down her cutlery and just looked at me for a minute.
What?
“You do know she was developmentally delayed. Profoundly so, in fact.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. I had no idea. I have learned many things in my life from books and classrooms. That was the day I learned something in my soul.
My Mom went on to tell me how Dallas had been locked away most of her life, a source of shame for her family, who were distant relatives of my grandfather. She told me how Vera Perlin (now a household name in this province), a friend of my grandfather, had taken Dallas under her wing, and often brought her along when she visited.
I never knew. I was too little to have learned prejudice. I remember her smile. It made me want to smile. Her laugh made me want to laugh. We were interested in the same things, and I knew she wasn’t humouring me, like most adults. They would pretend to be interested, but not Dallas. I could tell she was really interested.
She was so nice. The rest of adulthood existed as a sombre, boring grey overworld in my memory, but Dallas’ face, as she knelt down to look into my face . . .
Recently I was somewhere when I overheard someone make a derogatory remark about the Special Olympics. No need to get into that here, we’ve all heard those remarks.
The ignorance didn’t make me mad. It made me sad. It made me think of Dallas.
In Dallas’ time that ignorance was commonplace. My Mom said Dallas had lived a difficult life, given the attitudes of the day. She was seen as worthless, a burden, an embarrassment.
Imagine if attitudes had been different back then. Worthless? Six decades on she is still in my heart.
It’s fashionable to complain about the times we live in – I’m certainly guilty of that in this space. Remembering Dallas reminds me that, however slowly, attitudes do change.
We need to remember it’s not all bad.

Ivan Morgan can be reached at ivan.morgan@gmail.com