The following Notes from the Editor are excerpted from the Preface to the Revised Edition of Dr. Martin Behr’s seminal work, The End of Marriage: A Guide to the Universe.
The author’s words are often an instructive point from which to begin examination of the text. Let us consider the following passage:
The swirling mist of the universe is indifferent to the corral called the rational, at least when the universe is momentarily left in non-dispute by the cosmologists. Humans, however, hunger for an organizing principle and have managed to devise a workable contraption called marriage out of the fertile muck of desire and faith. This carnal cord is neither as silken nor smooth as words such as ‘desire’ and ‘faith’ might indicate. In fact, the marriage bond is closer kin to a knotted jungle vine than to an elegant accessory.
That even this much is known with verifiable certainty about marriage is due to the pioneering work of Martin Behr, Ph.D., who began and then abandoned a career in space physics before embarking on a radically personal quest for meaning through the marital relationship. The untimely death of Dr. Behr before he could complete his life-long study of a life long lived with another is to be mourned in terms of what will never be understood about what happens to the players in a marriage when one of them succumbs. The elucidating mind behind the intended final volume, I Am Now a Widower will remain lost and this serves only to underscore the poignancy of the previous volumes.
Far from protesting, many an Infirm Child’s eyes shine with an Inner Light at mention of this most noble purpose their otherwise wasted bodies can serve. There are Disabled Children not as wholly selfish as their Disabled brethren who would demand survival, even education and employment, at the expense of their Normal brothers. But good it is to look upon the Infirm Child going cheerfully to the cook-pot to feed the strength of the Normal Child whose rude health is testament to his good character and his Creator’s Pleasure in him.
UPDATE: (Salem Village, Massachussetts Bay Colony, January 18, 1617,) Goody DeVos, beloved of GOD as evidenced by her billions, testifying before Congress about the importance of parents being able to choose their disabled children’s schools without mentioning either that: 1) some parents would choose such things as a ducking stool to see if their child’s disability is a “real” one; or 2) choosing that charter dame school the next colony over means they lose their due process rights if the charter school beats their kid for not being able to read his horn book or whatever. Photo courtefy of Salon.
Nature and her master THE LORD have blessed the Educator with ease in beginning any recipe for inclusion, ‘Step One of How to Cook a Disabled Child: Catch a disabled child.’ Truly, the Infirm Child’s emfeeblement makes him an ideal choice for the inexperienced Educator new to his twin masters Efficiency and Economy.
When you have your specimen, consider your various cooking options as well as how many Normal Children you have to feed. Is the Infirm Child plump and well-larded? If this be the case, wrap the lad’s loin with the finest bacon and roast in a hot oven, a dish fit to serve at term’s end to celebrate the holiday.
CLASS. SOPHISTICATION. Applied with sincerity to a restaurant that
takes pride in hospitality, these words make service charming rather
than servile. Dropped like banana peels on the floor of a restaurant
that feeds ’em and shoves ’em out the door, they are ironically
hilarious, the verbal equivalent of an angora twin-set. Whatever tone
they have, though, Class and Sophistication are not about anything as
discrete as the cost or scarcity of the ingredients a restaurant uses.
Class and Sophistication are all about attitude. Checking out a
restaurant’s attitude starts with two questions: Do they want me to
come into their restaurant? If so, what are the signs?
The neurology department sent you a form letter asking you to be a resident’s final exam in diagnostic assessment. You wait in the exam room in the tank top and leggings you wore under your jeans.
There is a perfunctory knock at the door announcing the team. They take their places, an older man, a younger man and a woman somewhere between them in age. The candidate, the woman, stands next to the exam table where you are sitting.
“Please begin,” nods the older man to the woman.
This woman has fifteen minutes to figure you out. Even though she is probably only ten years older than you, she reminds you of Eleanor Roosevelt or the prow of a ship cutting through the churning waters. You are instantly on her side.