I have no use for political correctness.
Nothing shuts down constructive dialogue faster than the fear of inadvertently saying something that will be deemed “politically incorrect” by the listener. Political correctness is the enemy of meaningful discourse.
Don’t get me wrong—I don’t condone the use of racial epithets or shock-jock language. Not because I care about some notion of political correctness, but because I’d like to think I’m a nice person who cares about the feelings of others.
Johnny Knoxville doesn’t care much for political correctness, either. I know this because he says so in the clip I’m about to share with you (don’t scroll ahead—geez, I promise I’m not going to ramble on this time. Be patient, and we’ll get there when we get there).
See, I’m not a big fan of the word “retarded.” But I realize that most people who don’t have a child with Down syndrome in their life aren’t up on the latest vernacular (which is, by the way, some combination of either of the words “cognitive” or “intellectual”, paired with either of the words “challenge” or “disability”).
If a well-meaning individual strikes up a conversation with me about the fact that their little neighbor was retarded, and she was just the sweetest thing, I’m not going to get offended. If someone asks me what the most challenging thing about raising a retarded child is, I will remain unflapped. I’ll tell you why: because we live in a country where people with Down syndrome have only recently—in the past few decades—been afforded the opportunity to live their lives outside of an institution, and in which over 90% of parents who find out pre-natally that their child will be born with Down syndrome choose to abort. The most dangerous thing we as parents can do is to discourage people from talking about Down syndrome. And the fastest way to discourage them is to make them memorize the verbage that comes to us so easily.
I had to have this conversation with Ethan when Mason was just a baby. The neighbor’s kid said to him, “Your brother’s retarded.” Being only 6 years old, E didn’t possess the verbal skills necessary to engage this child in a meaningful dialogue. What he did possess was a water hose. But it gave me a great opportunity to engage the kid’s mother in meaningful dialogue, seeing as how when he went home soaking wet, he left out the part about why Ethan sprayed him down.
So if you want to talk to me about Down syndrome, don’t ever worry that you’re going to use the wrong words. I don’t care—it’s way more important to me that the conversation takes place.
However, I feel much differently about the use of the “R” word as a slur. Let me elucidate….
When you say, “That’s so retarded!” I hear, “That’s so Mason.” Likewise, when you say “What a retard,” I hear, “What a Mason.”
Do you get it?
See, I know that the overwhelming majority of people don’t mean to be hurtful when they use the “R” word. Well, I’m pretty sure they mean to be hurtful to whomever it is they’re talking about, but they don’t intend to slam the entire intellectually disabled community. I get that. I totally do.
But now that you know how it makes me feel for you to basically say “That’s the kind of stupid thing a person with Down syndrome would do,” now that you know that it hurts me—not offends me, but cuts me to my core—for you to equate my son’s genetic condition with stupidity, let me ask you something: do you care?
I promised you some Johnny Knoxville, and I am a woman of my word, so here it is. And by the way, anybody ever calls my son a “retard,” and for the next few days they’re going to be answering the question, “How the hell’d you get a bootprint on your forehead?”
Tags: Down syndrome, Eddie Barbanell, Johnny Knoxville, political correctness, politically correct, retard, retarded, the "R" word, The Ringer





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