Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Oh my goodness. A friend just emailed me to ask if I had seen the brew-ha-ha between Sarah Palin and Rahm Emmanuel. Emmanuel had called something, "F***ing Retarded." "In a posting on her Facebook page Monday, former GOP vice presidential nominee Sarah Palin called on Obama to fire Emanuel. Palin, whose son Trig suffers from Down syndrome, said Emanuel's language was "heartbreaking" and a "slur on all God's children."
I didn't realize when I began this BLOG (this morning!) that things would get so juicy right off the bat. I thought I could ease into this format. Not. Evidently not.
Here's my stance: I spend just about 24/7 hours/days with my son. He is precious. It's also a hard life. Caring for him is relentless. It's just the way it is. It's my "thing" in life. It's what I was given. I am allowed to say the word retarded. But, here's the rub: You're not. Well, not unless you, too, are caring for (or are) a retarded person. You haven't earned your stripes. (Gosh, there has to be some payoff. Stripes are good. Did you think there was going to be money???)
Anyway, Sarah Palin is not my favorite person on the planet. This is my judgemental self talking, but she left her newborn son to campaign around the clock for months. For being such a family person, she was not walking the walk.
This BLOG is not about SP. I just found it interesting that the word "Retarded" was an exposed lightning rod today. Hmm.
It's so presumptuous of me to think I have anything life-changing to say.
I guess I'm thinking that this blog should be worthwhile--or at least funny. It will be funny because I look at life in such a skewed way. My life is like wearing your shirt inside-out. Seams show. The stitching shows. The labels show. All of the loose strings and stains show.
I am 56. I have a 25 year old son with Down Syndrome. If you're reading this and have never met me, you're coming on in the middle of the movie. I'll try to catch you up--or not.
I decided to write this blog because it seems like every day I learn something profound (or that should be profound) from my son---who's "retarded." Ok, you just bristled. That's a word we used to get spanked for saying outloud. I used to throw up when I even saw that word. Now I live with it every day. Here's my new bumper sticker mantra: Don't believe everything you think.