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THE TEACHER

by Maura Hanrahan
maura hanrahan

We always hoped it wouldn’t rain on Saturdays. That was when a gaggle of us, maybe six or seven from our adjacent boys’ and girls’ high schools, traipsed across the city to the Holiday Lanes bowling alley. There we’d meet the kids from Exon House and their caregivers. The kids had severe disabilities. Robert couldn’t speak. Angela couldn’t understand speech. Terry had a tendency to bang his head against hard surfaces so he had to wear a helmet all the time.

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