The "R" word

This is something I have been thinking about doing a post on since I first started my blog.

First I will start off with some wisdom from William Shakespeare

"A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet"

I believe this is generally interpreted to mean, that no matter what you call something, it doesn't change what the thing is.

Lately there have been quite a few times, when I have heard people refer to what they call, the "R" word.

They are talking about the word retarded.

The fear they have of this word goes to the point of ridiculousness. My son Shawn is mentally retarded. He is one of my most beautiful blessings. He truly brings me joy. Then I have my beautiful, precious little grandaughter Elisabeth. Among the many problems this sublime little girl has, she is also mentally retarded.

When Shawn was a baby, it was obvious that he was different. As he reached the age of six it became necessary for him to have a "label". The school system requires children getting special services to have an actual diagnoses to show that they are in need of the help they are receiving.

Shawn is autistic, but he is also mentally retarded.

From the time he was two he went to the "Developmental Center". They are such a wonderful organization. The teachers are all some of the most beautiful and loving people you could ever hope to meet.

They also have one of the hardest jobs you could ever imagine.

The difficulty lies, not in their work with the children, no that is where they have their pure delight.

The problem these dear people dread facing are the Parents of these special children.

Parents who, for whatever reason, have a hard time accepting their precious children for what they are.

Parents who are offended at the most harmless question or remark.

Parents who are firm believers in the new, so called "sensitivity".

Those parents do NOT want to hear that their children have anything wrong them. They are offended at even the suggestion that their child is not normal.

This has always amazed me. Why on earth are their children even at a place like the Developmental Center if their child doesn't need help.

I was never afraid of words like Mentally Retarded or Autistic.

As far as I was concerned Shawn was absolutely perfect as he was.

Labels like "differently abled" or "developmentally delayed" always annoyed me because they were so broad and vague and therefore, to my way of thinking, meant next to NOTHING.

If your child is retarded then he is retarded. There is absolutely NOTHING disgraceful or dirty or shameful in being this way.

I like accuracy.

If something is blue then it is blue. If something is tall then it is tall.

I feel that when people call the word "retarded" a horrible word, and diminish it to the "R" word, then they are, as well, diminishing my wonderful, beautiful, creative, friendly, happy and completely perfect son Shawn.

That is what I find offensive.

Are they saying that my grandaughter Elisabeth and my son Shawn are too disgusting as they are, so we have to call them something different to reduce the shame of who they are?

That offends me like nothing else ever could.

The reason that people see the word retarded as such a bad word is because for as long as I can remember it has been used in such negative ways.

Ignorant people, use the word to describe anyone or anything, they don't like. They feel that calling someone a Retard is one of the worst insults they can sling at a person.

I grew up during the Sixties and early Seventies.

Back then society was so backwards that it was generally considered good to separate mentally retarded children from the so called "normal" kids.

I won't even get started on how wrong and stupid this was.

One of the results of treating these incredible people as cast offs, was that everyone saw them as worst than even second class.

Even today, there are so many ignorant, small minded people who still slander the word retarded.

Do you want to know something that really upsets me?

I never let Shawn hear me use the word when talking about him. And do you want to know why?
Because most of the times that he has heard the word it has been when he is out with his ARC friends doing fun things around town.

Believe it or not there are still people who are so stupid and small that they think it's fun to try and attack those who are different than themselves.

I'm afraid that if Shawn heard me tell someone that he is Mentally Retarded, that he would shout out "Take that back. I am NOT!"
Not because he understands what the word means. No, it's because he has heard it used by foul, filthy, idiotic, people as an insult.

As a consequence he doesn't really understand that the "R" word is nothing more than a word that describes a particular way of being.

People who just happened to be born a little differently than the majority.

People who are beautiful in every way.

People who, if you show them even the slightest bit of interest, will love you immediately.

People who are too perfect and pure to hold to their grudges.

People who don't understand why they are being treated so poorly by those whom they only want friendship from.

People who have so much to offer the world.

If only the world would slow down enough to give them half a chance.

There is NOTHING wrong with the word when it is used appropriately. That is unless you see something wrong with people who happen to be mentally retarded.

If that is the case then all I can do is offer you my sympathy for being a hopelessly ignorant, human being.

On the other hand if you feel the love for these most special people that I and millions of others do then please try to stop seeing the word for their condition as a "bad" word.

It's just a word.

A perfectly acceptable word when used in it's proper context.
The word itself means; to hold back, to slow the progress of, slow or limited intelligence.

I see absolutely nothing in that description to be ashamed of.

Maybe they can't do math, or read, or understand how to play board games. Maybe they can't even talk or run and jump.

So what?

The things they can't do are such an insignificant problem when compared to all that they excel in.
They can love longer and stronger.
They can look at you without judgment.
They know how, better than most, to enjoy even the simplest pleasure.

The only tragedy I can possibly see in these most special of people is that we can't be more like them.

If you are one of those who see the word retarded as a bad word, I suggest you look at your reasons for this.
If it's because you have heard others denigrate it and insist on using more pleasing euphemisms, then why don't you ask them what there is to fear from using the proper word.
By refusing to use the "R" word, in my opinion, you are refusing to accept my son and grandaughter for who they are.

I guess if you don't agree with me there isn't much I can do about it.

But for me and the others who think like me, I am taking the "R" word back.

Oh the horror of it all

Warning: If you are squeamish, you may want to avoid this post!

My friend Dani, She lives HERE, has inspired this post.

I know I've done a post on this before but it's actually gotten worse the last several months.

I can't stand FOOD!

I can understand how wonderful that must sound to a lot of people but believe me, it's NO picnic. ("Picnic." tee hee)

It started a few years ago.

The thing that it all started with was bacon. I enjoyed bacon as much as the next guy.

At one time.

One night Courtney (who used to stay up really late) started cooking bacon at like two in the morning. My bedroom is just off the kitchen. I suddenly woke up. There was a really strong, really horrible smell. I heard people out in the kitchen.

It was Courtney and Kelly cooking bacon.
I first of all gave them the standard,
"What on earth are you two doing up at THIS time of the night.

Cooking BACON!?!"

Then I told them that "I didn't care if it was thirty degrees outside". Open the damn windows and doors and get that smell OUT of my HOUSE!!!

Now I can't stand even looking at the foul stuff.

On to Salmon.

I used to love salmon. I could have eaten it every night if given the chance. And since I am the menu planner around here as well as the cook we did eat a lot of salmon.

Then came the night that we had salmon and about 20 minutes after I ate it I got sick and eventually threw it up.

I wasn't really worried, I figured it must have been a bad night for me. It put me off salmon for a while though.

A few weeks later Don and I go to Red Lobster.

I order the salmon.

I won't go into the gruesome details, suffice it to say that I wasted my money.

After a few more unfortunate events, I realized that I could not even look at salmon without feeling woozy.

All right, I figured we would not have salmon anymore. Which made me sad because nutritionists are always saying how we should eat salmon at least twice a week.

A few months later, the same thing happened with beef. I couldn't believe that I could actually have prime rib and NOT enjoy it. So much so that I think I took two thirds of it home that night.

I figured that I would enjoy it more the next day anyway.

Hah, fat chance of that happening. I started feeling sick the second I opened it's little Styrofoam container and looked at it. I told myself that it didn't really mean anything.

I put it on a plate and popped it into the microwave.

The first 10 seconds were fine. But then I started to smell it warming up.

Yuck!

Yuck!

Yuck!

Kelly had a really nice lunch that day.

Next came chicken.

How can someone not like nice, neutral chicken?

I can still eat it in small doses it it's early enough in the evening. And if I can force myself to not get too queasy looking at it.

Pretty much, most every other type of food eventually affected me the same way.

In the morning it's not too bad. I can choke down most of a bowl of instant oatmeal, and even though eggs have, for the most part, become my enemy, I can eat them if I make them super fast and eat them just as fast. You know before the thought "Ewww. I just ate EGGS" hits me.

There is one category of foods I still enjoy.

Sweets.

Yes. I still love candy. Candy, brownies, cookies, cake, ice cream.
Dreyers frozen fruit bars in strawberry or lemon?

Devine.

But for most intents and purposes, I do NOT like FOOD.
I can't stand to smell it. I can't look at it most the time, (have you ever noticed just how many food commercials there are?)

Evenings are the worst.

I let myself get way too hungry because there is nothing I want to eat, then it gets past 7 and whatever I force down my throat comes right back up if I don't lay down and make myself not think about food. Especially what I just ate.

The other day, Lisa, (my daughter in law) told me "I can't believe that you don't weigh 120 pounds.

There is one reason for that and it's because of the sweet stuff.

I have type two diabetes. I'm on a few different medications. The problem has been finding a better balance. Byetta, which is the BIG one controls my blood sugars just a little too well. Before starting it I never had LOW blood sugar.

Only HIGH.

Now it gets so low that about two to three times a day I have to depend on the sweet stuff to bring it up.

It's taken me a few months of experimenting, but I have started taking cinnamon capsules three times a day. They work really well. So well that I have taken myself off of one of the pills I had been taking.

Now, I don't have nearly the problem with dangerously low blood sugars that I used to have.

I think I may have turned a corner.

If, as I suspect, I won't need to indulge in the sweet stuff so much anymore, I just might really start losing some more weight.
In the last two years, (roughly, the time all this distaste for food hit me.)
I have lost over fifty pounds.
I have kept it all off, but the last few months I can't seem to lose any more.

So I figure that it's time to make my little "food hating problem" work for me.

It will be hard cutting back on the foods I do love, especially since they are so few, but I want to get to the point where I only eat them because I need them for my blood sugar.

And not because it's so nice to eat something that I actually enjoy.

Will it work? Will I manage to drop some extra poundage? I really hope so.

I have one little reason why I'm actually not wanting to lose weight,

But that is a story for a different post.

(wink)

Me and Ray

I love to read.

Most of the time that is

For some reason I fell out of love with reading for the last few months. I just couldn't work up any interest in the many books I have stowed away just waiting for me. I felt bad about it but I just didn't have it in me to sit down and read.

This is where Kelly comes in

Kelly is my 27 year old, still lives at home, but is now attending our local college, middle child. He has discovered how much he loves learning.

This quarter (or it could be semester, not sure) he is taking an American Lit class. He is discovering authors that he never knew of, authors whose names he was familiar with but had never read, and a few whom he already knew he enjoyed.

When Kelly is excited about something, he loves to talk about the subject of his new devotion.

We were at Barnes and Noble a few weeks ago and as we sat at the cafe enjoying our nibblies, he looked up at the montage of classic authors that adorn the walls. He was really pleased to tell me that now he actually knew who most of them were.

I let him know how proud of him I was, and then I thought to ask him about one of my favorite authors of all time.

Ray Bradbury.

Kelly is quite familiar with good old Ray. He decided to ask his teacher what she thought about Bradbury at his next class. She agreed that it was quite a shame that he hadn't been included in the text book the class uses.

I started thinking more and more of Ray, and remembering all of the fantastic stories of his I had read over the years.

Fortunately I had a few of his books on hand, which I gathered up and brought down to my bedroom to read.

Oh such literary bliss.

I read the one about the boy raising giant mushrooms in his basement.

I read about 43 year old Willy who never aged beyond his 12th year.

I read about the great and terrible family who had amazingly terrifying powers, and weren't shy about using them.

I read stories of Martians, and about Rockets, and people who seemed to have wondered into the Twilight Zone. (Which, by the way, Bradbury wrote a few episodes of.)

One of my favorite and most chilling stories, about young children playing a game one summer afternoon called, "Invasion"

There really are too many to mention here.
I was just wondering how many of you have read anything of his.

I think the one book that most people start with would be "The Illustrated Man" I read this one first myself.

It was a Junior High reading assignment.

I got so caught up in the marvelous stories that I ended up reading the entire book, not just the few stories we were required to read.

Most of his books are compilations of short stories.

Most but not all.

The one novel that I remember reading (and plan to read again) would be "Something Wicked This Way Comes"

Years and years ago, when the Disney channel was worth paying extra for, they made a movie of this book that was incredible.
I haven't seen it in probably 20 years and I don't even know if it's available, but it was one of the best Disney Channel Movies ever.

I feel that it's only right to thank Ray for getting me back to my books.

I went to the used bookstore in town today and found several of his later works that I have never read.

Of course I bought them all.

If you enjoy Mr Bradbury as much as I do, or if you think he's worth discovering, or if you've only ever read one of his stories that has stayed with you ever since, then leave me a comment telling me your thoughts.

Who knows we might even get some kind of book club thing going here.

I can't wait to read your thoughts!

What a crazy (and I don't mean that in a good way) World

Today in the paper I read a story about a Funeral Home being shut down because an employee had to cut a dead guy's legs off to get him to fit in the coffin his family had bought for him.

Now I realize that to the average Joe this comes across as a little gruesome.

The problem wasn't so much that he had cut the guy's legs off, it was that he hadn't gotten the family's permission to do it.

Here's the thing. The dead guy was 6 foot 7. I think we can all agree that he was quite tall. So why on earth would the family have thought they could go the cheap route with a standard size casket if they

A. Knew he would be too long for it. And

B. Didn't realize that the only way to squish him in there, would have been to cut either some off his top or his bottom.

I think the dead guy's family would have REALLY blown their tops if funeral boy, had gone with the head and neck instead of the legs and feet.

And amid all of this I just can't help but wonder,

Who Cares Anyway!?!

Well, apparently the State of South Carolina does.

The Funeral Home has been shut down. Not necessarily because they cut off the guy's legs, but that they did it without his family's permission!

That's right. The same family that didn't even think to ask if a 6 foot 7 inch tall man would actually fit into a standard size casket.

Which, by the way, happens to be 84 inches long.
That's true. I did research.

Okay, if this is all that had happened it would be a semi-funny, but kinda creepy, typical news story.

But wait, there was more.

It appears that in the State of South Carolina it is against the law to cut up a corpse. That is of course unless the family has actually agreed to it.

If there is consent then they can cut the dead to fit in whatever casket you want to use.

I assume that means within reason.

I doubt if it would be allowed to cut someone in half so that they could fit into that pretty little (and slightly cheaper) casket meant for a ten year old.

Alright, so we now know that cutting a dead person up without permission is a crime in SC. But here comes the really ridiculous part.

The standard sentence for the guilty chopper is ten years.

Ten Years! Can you believe that?

There could possibly be someone in South Carolina's State Pen who's "crime" was cutting a few inches off a corpse to make him fit in the casket the family had bought for him.

I can't believe that with all the talk nowadays about overcrowded prisons, that the courts would actually be stupid enough to use up a cell for some poor schlump who was only doing his job the way he thought best.

Granted ,the article did say that cutting up a corpse was the crime. So I guess they could also be referring to the serial killer who's freezer is chock full of frozen fillets of human.

I guess it might be meant to cover more heinous crimes like that.

But I still think it's pretty stupid. If someone has been caught with a chain saw and a bunch of fresh human parts, then I think it's pretty clear that what they have here is a really, bad, guy.
He should be facing the death penalty or at least the rest of his life in prison.

And the fact that he took his jollies in cutting up what he had just killed, well sure, I guess. Go ahead and tack on ten more years to his sentence.

But if it happens to be some unlicensed Funeral Home worker who forgot to ask the grieving family for their permission to make sure that Grandpa fits nicely in his too small coffin?

For heaven's sake. Fine the guy a few hundred and get on with it.

Save that prison cell for someone who really deserves it.

Proof that at one time there really was help for her

Okay, I finally have something to post about. I will file it under the category of

Irony.

Shawn is upstairs watching this Disney-made for TV movie called Life Sized.

It stars Lindsay Lohan when she was still young, cute and actually likeable.

I can't believe what her character just said to her fashion doll come to life played by Tyra Banks.

She, very firmly, looks at "Eve" (that would be Tyra's Character) and in all seriousness she says to her, and I quote. . . .

"Eve, it doesn't matter if you're gorgeous, that doesn't give you the right to walk all over people and act like they don't matter!"

Yes, you read right my friends. I may not have gotten every word verbatim but I think you get the idea.

I think

as punishment

for all of her sick, stupid, big-headed, slutty and just plain idiotic behavior,

she should be locked into a chair with her eyes forced open and be made to watch her sweet young self repeat those words for at least ten hours a day for a good week.

Sadly though,

I think Miss Lohan is beyond help.

Oh well,

I tried.