Brother Jon had Muscular Dystrophy, not mental dystrophy.
He was sharp as a tack,
but in his wheelchair, strangers didn’t know. They gave long stares of pity and wonder, looking for drool.
Every once in a while, Jon played on this if the audience was large enough, like Walmart’s parking lot.
Stare reflex: he would turn his wheelchair in erratic circles, lean his head over, stick his tongue out, cross his eyes and babble “da da ba ga Ninja do do Turtles la la dunga I love beans.”