Don’t Be A Retard
This mother and her small son were making their way down an aisle in a store when she felt control slipping from her grip. Seeking to bring the little fellow in line, she bellowed: "Billy, don't be a retard!" Her words stung the woman beside her.
Could she not have thought of other words to express her frustration? Was it necessary to stoop to name-calling of the sort that casts the mentally retarded into such an unfavorable light? What if she had known that the woman beside her actually had a retarded child?
It's easy for me to empathize because I know about having a retarded child. It's hard -- unbelievably hard. And I well remember the hurts that can come from people who don't understand.
When Jenny was small, we took her to Wye Mountain when the daffodils were in bloom. Being blind, she wasn't thrilled by the rolling sea of brilliant colors. But she could feel, and daffodils have a way of bringing a just-right mixture of warm sun to temper the spring breezes. It was just the kind of day that she enjoyed the most.
I carried her to the quilt that Mary had spread on the ground among the daffodils. Many people were roaming the mountain that afternoon, and some would come near and then suddenly turn away. Something wasn't quite "right" about Jenny, I suppose, and maybe they thought it was contagious.
In a way, I do understand. There was a time when I resisted seeing the United Way films shown at my workplace because they featured "handicapped" people. Since afflictions always happened to others -- or so I thought -- I didn't want to be bothered with somebody else's troubles. But Jenny's birth changed all that.
We've known many delightful children who accepted Jenny just as she was. They called her "Baby Jenny" until she was about 18 because that's how they saw her. Unaffected by her infirmities, they took the time to interact with her quiet and gentle spirit. They freely gave what retarded children need the most: love and respect. I wish Billy's mom could have such a kind and simple outlook.
But what if she continues to teach him that it's OK to use "retard" as a hateful, abusive jab? How will he come to perceive the mentally and physically infirm? Will he see them as sub-human, creatures to be despised and made fun of, the unfortunate recipients of "bad breaks" in life? And should his own mother's physical and mental faculties ebb away with time, will he think of her any differently?
Maybe she should ponder the lesson she's really teaching in ignorance and defer on the side of dignity ... while there's still time.
Copyright 1999 James McAlister
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