I had to have one of the toughest conservations a parent has to have with a child.
Not THAT conversation.
We had that conversation a long time ago.
It involved graphs and diagrams and cookies.
My 14yo son wanted to tell me about the funny thing his school buddies did. The story began with, ” These retards...”
A piece of me curled up and wanted to die.
We grew up together.
To me there was no do difference in the three little girls in the picture.
No race difference. No mental handicaps. No irrational need for straight towels.
There was just love. Family. Complete and total acceptance.
When I hear the word “retarded” come from the lips of MY OWN CHILD it hurts me.
How do I make him understand what it feels like to see Jennifer’s struggles? To know there is no love as pure as the emotion she is capable of giving.
I ache to define this mother moment of “YES! I understand that you want to laugh at what seems funny to everyone else, but be strong enough to never laugh at the expense of others.”
I’m trying to raise these humans that will be respectful of the difficulties of others, whatever they may be.
You’d think that with what all we’ve been through it would come naturally.
It is a part of parenting that is as hard as any other.