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.
Shift happens.
Joe shared this fantastic blog with me- and now im oficially a "follower" ;)
ReplyDeleteI love Taylor, and I love all of the pics you have up so far...
love,
ashley (crowe) freuler
I was fascinated about your observation regarding our Afro-American brothers and sisters! That has been my experience with your retarded cousin, my brother, Jim Love. There is a dissertation in there somewhere - our culture pretty much sequesters those out of the "norm" - so it is shocking to those with no experience or exposure to the "other". Your dedication to Taylor is extraordinary and makes the name of your blog even more entertaining! I can remember in high school that calling someone retarded was very popular and, of course, I was highly offended by its use - now I find myself using it in a very different context, generally as it applies to governmental policy development and implementation. You are incredibly brave and I'm in awe of your ability to face the music and dance! Love from your favorite cousin, K. Love
ReplyDeleteThere's nothing wrong with being retarded. It's just an adjective that means slow or limited in progress. What kills me is that lucky people, who happen to be born with sound mind and beautiful body, mistake their good fortune for self-worth, for license to ridicule others different from them. I started to say less lucky, but sometimes I'm not so sure. I'd much rather be called retarded than arrogant, and I would much rather my child be retarded than cruel.
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