Persian Westender

I’ve worked with this guy for 11 months. We handshake every morning and at the same time we trade smiles. Although there is a tendency among the authorities to label him as a mentally challenged person, he is quite smart. Anyhow, they may measure him by IQ.

I take this frisky gentleman out, on a daily basis. We hang out at malls, basketball courts, parks, and sometimes libraries.

Interestingly, he listens to me, while I recite Persian poems from Moulavi. He understands them better than our Farsi literature teacher. His eyes say so.

On some occasions, he does therapy on me. He patiently listens to my words, while secretly analyzes my emotional challenges. Unfairly, I am the paid one, and he never complains about this issue. In fact, other than few simple English words which are hardly recognizable, he can’t speak….

In one cloudy day, we had a good walking on wet grasses of a quiet park. He smiled for no reason, and then stopped. I stopped too. I stared at his face, have a peculiar feeling that something extraordinary is going on inside him. I felt he is going to give a lecture. And he did so. He started to talk to me, but as if he was addressing the world with passions of an enthusiastic lecturer….I could apprehend every words of it, as if a thirsty one takes a sip of Gatorade… At the end of the show, he put his hand on my shoulder and congratulated me for making such a good progress in understanding him.

My progress was recorded in my daily log.