The beggar and the President

Chapter 1

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

That sounded good. 'He is improving,' I thought. Among all the songs he had ever played to me, that was the best one. But he suddenly stopped playing and looked up at me.

"Mom, who is my father?"

I gave a sigh. He was nine years old and it was the eve of Father's day, and every year I had that conversation with him, because his schoolmates always had to tease him at that time. I knew this year would not be different.

"Anthony, we have already discussed it. Do you remember?"

"Yes, Mom. I remember," he said sadly and returned his eyes to his toy keyboard. He did not start playing again, though, staying quiet.

"Oh my dear, you do know that I love you, don't you?"

"Yes, Mom. But what about Daddy?" he said, and the tone of his voice was quite heartbreaking.

"Of course Daddy loves you too, honey."

"The boys... they said I must be an orphan, or a bastard."

I turned the TV off and waved to him to sit beside me. I looked down at his slanting eyes behind the eyeglasses and his protruding tongue.

God.

Children can be ruthless.

I had had dozens of conversations with the teacher, and she had told me that the school was well prepared to receive students with special needs. But I was not sure about that anymore. It was not the first time it had happened, nor would it be the last.

"Honey, you are not an orphan, nor a bastard."

"I'm different, Mom. I know I'm different, and I just want to be like all of them..."

"You are perfectly normal. You are perfect, son. Don't say that again."

"Okay, Mom, I won't," he said, adjusting his glasses, and then returned to play the keyboard again. But this time I couldn't recognize what it was; it wasn't good.

Anthony was thriving, especially considering that he had had two heart surgeries before the age of five. I found him beautiful, but I knew some people would not agree with me. It did not matter. Anyway, I knew that the best thing I could do for him was give him the best education possible, and, to my surprise, I discovered that he was more intelligent than I thought he could be. He also loved drawing and music. His weak point: making friends.

Bullying was frequent, but once he was bigger than the other students (because his schoolmates were one or two years younger), he used to fight with them. Over the years he became more and more lonely. I needed to do something, but I didn't know what.

When I least expected it I received a phone call that changed everything. It was from a new school of music. The man on the line told me that he was looking for new students, but at the beginning I thought it wasn't for children like my son. I was wrong, though, and he said to me that he had great experience with learning disability children.

So I enrolled him in this school of music, and that was an incredible gift for him. He had piano lessons, three times a week, with a clever piano teacher, and after that he even became

a more social boy, I thought. He loved piano and after every lesson he used to say he was happy and wanted to be a musician when growing up.

I found myself at the same time proud of him but concerned of his big expectations and the disappointments he could have. I bought him a toy keyboard to practice sometimes when he was at home, and sometimes he played it well, sometimes not. Every time he learned a new song at school, he tried to show me at home. Gradually I found him more active, talking more, eating better and even making new friends at school.