. Acceptance Relationships are courses in which You should not enroll, If changing other people is your Pre-existing goal. . . When One Overrides Twenty-Six It started in first grade as I recall. Our son told us strange tales about some kid, Who yelled and sang, and sometimes smacked a wall, With no apparent cause for what he did. Such stories kept on coming more and more, Since he was in our son’s class every grade. But soon our boy’s amusement at that lore, Became frustration for disruptions made. Our son would tell us on most days the teachers, Spent hours just trying to keep that kid quiet, And then they could not reach some subject’s features, With interruptions by this boy’s next riot. At parent-teacher conferences we asked, Was this unruly kid invincible? Two teachers told us that’s how they’d been tasked, And begged us to speak with the principal. The principal said nothing could be done, But it was clear that really was her choice, When she called public schools “for everyone,” And zero sympathy was in her voice. This boy was merely “different” she declared, And thus “the other kids could learn from that.” Well, silly me for wanting them all spared, From learning no 3Rs throughout each spat. Then lastly she professed his legal rights, And said that mainstream classes thus behooved. But experts told me since that kid incites Routine disturbances he could be moved. Yet with her need to show inapt compassion, She wanted that wild kid kept in the mix, While my main aim, which she deemed out of fashion, Was schooling for the other twenty-six. . . Poor Little Soccer Player The little boy could barely move, __So un-robust was he. His feet got nowhere near the ball __Nor its vicinity. There were abundant other things __At which this boy excelled, But during children’s soccer games __His father often yelled: “I’ll buy a new computer for you,” __“If you score a goal!” That made the other parents want to __Crawl into a hole. No doubt like any other Dad __His love was very real. But did he ever stop to think __How that made his son feel? . . Russel Winick recently started writing poetry at nearly age 65, after ending a long legal career. He resides in Naperville, Illinois.