Who You Calling Ugly?

When You Need a Hero

He was one of the ugliest boys I’d ever met, all big teeth and thick glasses and missing an arm. I was nine, in the Crippled Children’s Hospital with a bunch of other crips, now known as disabled kids. The only thing I didn’t hate about Louis was that he was taller than I was.

I wish I could say all that didn’t matter. But I was a bigot, pure and simple.

If I’d been fair, I’d have realized that we were all pretty ugly, at least according to the beach movies I was hooked on back then. Annette Funicello I was not. At home in Yuma, I learned to angle my bad arm away from the camera and claim I didn’t like double-dutch jump rope. But in that hospital, I proved that there could still be mean girls, even if some of us used wheelchairs or had gimpy arms.

Louis wore one sleeve pinned to keep it from flapping around. I only saw him at hospital school and holidays—on Halloween he wore a paper sack with eye holes and asked if I knew who it was. How could I tell him no one else on earth laughed like a wounded hyena?

Plus, Louis really was a mouth breather. He loved to tell the story of how he lost his arm. He was a farm boy, a hick—another count against him in my book.

At hospital school recess, which was all about bedpans and temperature checks, Louis started in. I was a sophisticated nine, but some of the younger kids listened intently, including Sharon, a CP (cerebral palsy) kid.

Louis told his story. One day, while driving a tractor, some evil force had blown up a mighty wind. This wind blew hay dust right into his eyes. He was temporarily blinded and the tractor wheel fell into a ditch. The forces of evil tipped over the whole shebang.

Hospital School recess was all about bedpans and temperature checks.

“There I was,” Louis said, “the dang tractor fell right on me.”

Sharon said, “Teacher says don’t say dang.”

Louis smirked. “You ever been pinned ‘neath a two-ton tractor?”

I rolled my eyes. That tractor was only a ton, if that. “John Deere?”

Louis looked at me as if I was a goddess. “Yup. Only the best for us Spivaks. Now where was I?”

A kid named Benny—whose head got burned in a terrible fire—piped up. “The dang tractor fell on you.” I was amazed that he’d heard all that. Benny’s ears had been melted clean off.

Jensen, the absolute worst aide interrupted. “Who needs the urinal?”

All the girls giggled. Jensen stuck thermometers in their mouths. Louis saw his chance.

“As I was saying,” he glared at Jensen behind her back, “My right arm was under the tractor. I couldn’t move.”

Sharon waved her hands, curled up like crab claws. “How’d you get it out? Your arm, I mean?”

Louis grinned, his gigantic teeth flashing. I thought of a mule braying. He looked at Sharon. “Well a weaker guy would have just given up and died. Lucky for me, I was strong from . . .”

Jensen shouted, “Back to class. Now.”

Louis turned red. I swear steam came out his ears.

When school let out, I walked over to Louis. “So how’d it really happen? How’d you get out from under that tractor?” I planned to expose his exaggerations to the whole school. If my left arm hadn’t been in a cast, I would have crossed my arms. I’d show this loser—can’t fool me.

But Louis stared at the floor. “One day I stuck my arm into the blades of the harrow.” His eyes misted over. “Pop told me a thousand times, don’t you ever put your hand in them blades. But I didn’t listen.” He pointed to where his arm used to be. “God punished me.”

I gasped. Hadn’t I thought those very words myself? That my arm was paralyzed because of something I’d done? At least I still had two arms. My bigoted heart softened.

“No,” I said. “God doesn’t punish. And I like you just as you are.”

Next day at hospital school, recess rolled around. Kids gathered around Louis. But he stayed quiet.

Benny said, “Tell us the ending.”

Sharon added, “Remember? You got your arm pinned.”

Louis didn’t say anything. I took a breath and stood up. “Louis is a hero just like we’re all heroes. We know what it’s like to be different.”

Just like that, Louis went from the ugliest kid on earth to someone who’d faced disability and was trying to make peace with it.

He said, “Don’t ever put your hand in the dang tractor blades.” Louis didn’t seem ugly anymore even to a mean girl like me. We both understood that God doesn’t punish by taking away arms or ears. God only wants your heart.