Good thing no standup comedians were there to defend picking on Charles

No one wore shorts in my first grade class. I don’t know why. Just no one did.

So when Charles showed up one morning sporting brand-new shorts, the class burst into laughter. Including, I’m ashamed to admit, me.

Charles walked to his desk, sat down, and cried.

We came quickly to our senses, stopped laughing, and were extra nice to him the rest of the day.

Good thing there were no standup comedians among us, keeping it up, saying, “They’re just jokes.”

When comedians target the marginalized, the audience laughs, laughs, laughs. Then everyone goes home or turns off the TV.

What they don’t see? That somewhere is a Charles who walks to his desk, sits, and weeps.

That’s if he’s lucky. If he’s less lucky, he gets publicly scorned, refused service, barred from a public restroom, or disowned. Or gets the shit beat out of him. Or worse.

All emboldened by so-called “edgy humor.”

To this day I wonder if Charles remembers that moment, if it still bubbles up and hurts him anew from time to time. It would me.

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