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.

The little one in the picture the left is my cousin Jennifer (I’m on the right, don’t you want to die from the cuteness?).

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 doesn’t.

It is a part of parenting that is as hard as any other.

It wasn’t meant to make any point. There wasn’t any great stand to be made. It was just telling you that these were my feelings. They weren’t going to change.

Then I read about Dominic Sheahan-Stahl. A man who was invited to be the keynote speaker at his brother’s graduation ceremony. Only to have that invite retracted. NOT because he was gay. Because he was OPENLY gay. WTH does THAT even mean and WHY does that matter?

Then I read about Inger Knudson-Judd and Philippa Knudson-Judd through my friend Erin. Even though they are legally married, immigration Is FUBARed and forces their separation again and again. For Phillipa to leave her twelve-year-old daughter again and again.

It’s not Christian, you say.

It’s not natural, you say.

It’s not what God says should be, you say.

How can anyone that comes to this site and feel sorry for  my pain and terror at being away from my family for hours DARE TO SAY PHILLIPA AND INGER’S ANGUISH AT BEING RIPPED APART FOR MONTHS AREN’T NATURAL?

As for God?

I’m pretty sure the guy that told you to love and forgive, preached grace and generosity would be sick at this self-righteous, sanctimonious display of power.

And if you need God’s own word?

Matthew 7:1-5 “Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.”

Oh yeah. I grew up in the church,. I just got all Ren McCormack on you.

I wish I would write a lot a lot of words.

But sometimes you don’t need them.

I told how we managed to save money by getting two gallons of milk out of one gallon.

I showed you how *I* learned to take off lids with one hand.

I’ve shown you tools that have helped me along the way, ways I’ve learned to cope with difficulty and things you may never have thought about (because I know I never did).

I have cried because of the overwhelming emotions I deal with. The grief. The pain. The joy. The revelry.

I have shared. Over-shared.

I never said this was the RIGHT way. This is it. DO IT THIS WAY AND EVERYTHING WILL BE BETTER. I want to kick my own ass for even typing that.

But this is my place. My little corner of the world. Welcome to Anissa’s Internet. I peed in the corners. This is mine. I say what I want. It doesn’t always sit well with others. That’s ok. I have no problem with people telling me they don’t think something’s right.

I do have problems with assholes.

This is my spot to be myself.

As goofy as I am. Using my words. Shining through the dark.

I’m really not sorry if you don’t like me. Feel free to get the hell out.

My leg.

My foot.

My arm.

My hand.

My jaw.

My heart.

My spirit.

My soul.

Some pains go away.

Some are forever.

The scars go deep and last a life-time.

Things there are no cure for, you learn to live through.

But you do learn to live.

You survive.

It strengthens you.