The Short Stories of Waldo


The three of us, mother, my wife and myself, doted on our son. We knew he had been born into a place of privilege.

After all, he was born into a family of substantial means and education. He would be exposed to the best of people, the best of ideals and the best of schools. He was bright eyed and a quick learner.

We ensured that he could read before entering kindergarten. Mother had him identifying the classical musicians by the time he was four. We would joke that he could say Bache before he said Daddy.

It was only after he entered public school that a potential problem arose. We always knew he saw things differently. Through the constant attention from the three of us we inadvertently minimized the problem.

We knew that he could learn anything he was exposed to. He could verbally feed…

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