Use of the word RETARDED or The Other N Word

I had a younger brother named Mark. For some reason, Mark grew up with several different labels. One of them was "borderline brain damaged". Try explaining that to friends. What it meant was that my brother, my only sibling, was not able to learn the way most kids did. He did learn to read. He learned how to ride a bicycle. He tried to learn to drive, but that was bit beyond his capability. He mowed the yard, helped our dad put a new roof on the house and volunteered with vacation Bible school. In fact, he had a reputation for offering to help and never refusing a request.

Life was tough for Mark. I wondered how it was going to be for him as he grew older. People could be cruel. Some neighbors didn't want him living near them in the apartment complex. We suspect that some drug dealers were using him and his apartment for a while to move drugs. Mark had a temper. He never attained a level of maturity to make enough good choices on the job. This made it difficult for him to keep a job. After a number of attempts to keep employment at a variety of different jobs, his last position was at a sheltered workshop.

In early spring, 1998, we lost Mark. His death is a mystery to us who knew him. He rode a bicycle all over Lower Bucks County where he lived. He was very careful to ride where it was safe. My dad said that he would often ride out of his way on safer streets than to take a chance on a more direct route. At the start of rush hour this March afternoon, Mark was leaving the workshop to go home. Instead of crossing at a light, he chose to cross Hwy 13 in between intersections. A driver, who had no time to react, hit him. Mark died shortly after he arrived at the hospital.

Let me tell you about the memorial service for a "Retart". Every pew in the church was filled, as was every seat in the extra rows set up in the back. Although this was a Monday evening, mourners arrived from all over the Greater Philadelphia area. This included family and friends from New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland and Ohio. I flew in from Italy where my husband was stationed at the time. There were ministers, church elders, teachers, classmates, social service workers, neighbors and people I hadn't seen in years. Because of severe back pain, I sat in the back of the church where I had a good view of everyone who attended. I was so pleased. Many people stood up during the memorial to tell about how Mark had touched their lives.

I like to watch Glee. Although I don't like Sue Silvestri as much as anyone else, part of me loves her. I love that she has a sister with Downs Syndrome and that they have such a special bond. I love that she chose a Downs student to be a Cheerio. I love that people are beginning to get it. They are beginning to see past the label of "retarded" and see the folks for what they can do. Yep, they do make contributions to society. Their families love them and mourn their deaths. I know that I am who I am because of my brother and that is very important to me.

I do have a point and I'm ready to get at it. When I hear the words "retarded" or "retart" (I've spelled it as I've most often heard it.), I am offended. It's one thing to use the word in, say biology where you talk about something that has retarded growth of a plant. It is another thing to use the word as a synonym for junk, useless, bad, waste, etc. When I hear the word used this way it reflects on my brother and all the men and women like him. My brother wasn't junk or useless. He was a treasure.