special needs

Leading Aunt Teresa through the precincts of the Tearman Cafe.
"This place is run by the Camphill Community," I explain. "It's got a rather interesting way of doing things. Wait till you see. There's something really good here. They have a vision that people with handicaps or special needs work alongside supposedly able bodied or mentally whole people. And each learns from the other. And each learns about themselves from the other. And then suddenly we realise we all are handicapped. We all have a special need. And we all are able bodied. We all are mentally whole. And we all are vital to each other. And the universe is incomplete without any of us. And we are incomplete without each other. I'd be quite enthusiastic about this notion except for the lingering suggestion that the movement's founder Rudolf Steiner was involved in devil worship. And of course there's the thing that for the past thirty years at this cafe there's always at least one complete bitch among the supposedly able minded management team. Maybe that's part of the Camphill philosophy. You can't have sunshine without rain. But I think Rudolf Steiner is sticking it to me. Sticking it."
The aunt and myself sit down at a table.
A guy with a supposed special need called Ron approaches.
"That's Ron Baines," I warn the aunt. "He's a great man. A very funny guy. But be careful. He has a cutting wit. If he says anything, don't get offended. It's just his way."
Ron stands by our table.
"Ha, ha. James Healy," he roars loud enough to be heard in the next county. "There you are. With your books under your arm. Always with a book. Chasing after every girl in the town of Kilcullen. Always with a book under your arm. I don't suppose you've ever read any of them. Ha, ha."
I shoot a glance at my aunt.
She seems to be taking it rather well.
Not offended at all.
I for my part am wondering which of the devil worshipping bitches put him up to it.