Well, news flash. When you are 17, for better or worse, you call mentally handicapped people "retards." It ain't pretty, but it's true. Another unsettling reality is that, despite the best wishes of the movie industry, many of the mentally challenged are not, in fact, beatific poets and wise souls who see a simpler truth by way of an innocent's perspective, but are physically strong and volatile; with adult muscles and frames, arrested in the emotional state of a toddler. You couple this with the ready access of food, and the bustle and "excitement" of a lunch-room, and virtually NO supervision, and you have a recipe for disaster. Or comedy, depending on your perspective, and relative lack of a soul.

Let me amend something. They did have SOME supervision. There was one designated guy we referred to, in our youthful ignorance, as "The Keeper." He was the most stoic sum'bitch I think I've ever seen. He'd sit in a folding chair, at the end of their table, and read the newspaper for the duration of the lunch; oblivious to the tossed sandwiches, screaming, and hair pulling that was happening before him. He was SO just collecting a paycheck. But one had to admire his steely resolve and absolute lack of involvement, and well-nigh-Buddha-like calm and seeming serenity in the midst of the storm.

Now, I'm not so proud of what I'm about to tell you all. But it is true, every word of it, and the truth is sometimes more important than pride. Being in close proximity, and having such a vantage point, my friends and I got to talking. It was decided that the term "retard" had such a horrible sound and hateful ring to it.. It was harsh, and hard. But the overly PC terms are just not stuff that comes trippingly off the tounge. "Mentally challenged" is not in the working lexicon of a 17 year old. We came to the conclusion that language had failed the retarded community. Once, they were called, by science, "Mongloids." This was a racist term, and inaccurate, and rightfully phased out. Later, science deemed them "Morons," but this worked its way into the vernacular as a general epithet, and became more, in common usage, to be defined as someone who is stupid by deed, not mentally handicapped. Now, "retard" had become, by way of use, much the same. It sounds like an insult, not a descriptive term.

What's a group of high school boys to do? Cartoons and movies being our only frame of reference at the time (admittedly, not much has changed on that front), the dim memory of Mary Poppins, changing the sound of words to suit their meaning must have occurred.(Ms. Poppins suggested that the word "full" should be replaced with "fulloon," as it gave an onamonepia-like quality, and informed the meaning by way of an emotional response to the sound.)

We needed a word to call the "special needs" table, and "retards" was too harsh, "re-rees (Reé-REES)" too childish, "tards" too unimaginative and cruel… I do not recall the specific circumstances, but it someone at the table, after watching LIFE GOES ON the night before, decided that a PERFECT word would be "Oohblah." The "ooh" part is pronounced with the hard "o" in "through." The "blah" is pronounced "blah," and the stress is on "ooh."

This of course, from the theme song for the Chris Burke show, LIFE GOES ON, from the Beatles WHITE ALBUM. (Oohblah dee, oblah-da, Life goes on! Braaaah! La-da-da-da life goes on.)

It fit, in every way possible. It was perfect. It was brilliant. I felt like Mengele for being so pleased at it. Suspend, for a moment, your growing, soul-level revulsion at this entire story, and consider the sound of the word. Oooh-blah. It's all rolly, and made up of vowels. Even the "b" is somehow soft and without any harshness to it. OOOh-blaah. Say it out loud. It SOUNDS retarded. It just plain works. I had moral reservations, and weakly protested at first, but really, put about as much resistance up as France, circa 1940. My Maginot Line of perfunctory political correctness was quickly and effortlessly passed by my 17-year old's propensity for funny cruelty. And thus was the word coined. And thus began what may be viewed as a karmic backlash.

The plot sickens.

With the word in place, we began to study the Oohblahs. We soon came to the conclusion that nearly each had an "oohblah-power" that set him or her apart from his fellows. This led us to assign Dick-Tracy-like names to them.

Please, understand, I know that this means that, come Judgment time, my collective friends and I will not even BOTHER asking if we should pass GO, or collect $200…we will simply hang our heads, and head straight to Hell. But it's TRUE, and it must be told.

There was the unfortunate young man who we referred to as "Egg-Tooth Ooblah," since one of his teeth shot out at a right angle to his mouth, and resembled the egg-tooth that a chicken gestating in an egg will grow to crack itself out of the shell. Egg-Tooth Ooblah's "special power" was that he could visually track fallen change with unerring accuracy. If a pretty girl on the lunch-line dropped a quarter, Egg-Tooth would be up and out of his seat with preternatural quickness, arm outstretched, and oftentimes would retrieve the coin before it stopped moving. He would then hold it out to the pretty girl in question, and get all bashful. "Here. Here. Here." If a guy dropped change, Egg Tooth would act just as quickly, but, upon retrieving it, would offer it to the nearest pretty girl. Of course, after she accepted, he'd follow her to her seat, and hover over her until she was good and uncomfortable. A glance shot towards "The Keeper" would find him in his satori-like state, sitting oblivious and motionless, reading his newspaper.