“That’s soooo retarded!”… if they only knew...
by Gregory Burns

Here’s a phrase that’s sneaking into our vocabulary, “That’s soooo retarded!” It’s usually expressed by a younger person to voice displeasure as in, “Your mom won’t let you go to the mall? That’s soooo retarded!” Notice the subtle emphasis on the word so. It’s also important that a certain tone of voice is required when pronouncing the word “retarded” to infer something horrible, bad, dreadful, awful—you get the idea. I always bristle a bit when I hear that phrase because my daughter Cami is retarded. Yes, she is retarded, but she is hardly horrible, bad, dreadful, awful, etc. She is nothing but a sweetheart, a beautiful spirit sent down to live among us “normals.”

Most people would think twice before using a racial slur or slang to describe a group of people, but somehow the “retarded” became fair game. Someone in the giant playground we call civilization said it was okay to dismiss the retarded. If they only knew who they were talking about. For those “normals” I might suggest a couple of days at an event I attended this year that put things in a different perspective for me. Imagine a stadium filled with humans that are openly flawed and imperfect. Despite their disabilities they wear their hearts on their sleeves because they don’t know how to ration their love like the rest of us. Welcome to the Special Olympics.

When I walked into the stadium I felt an undercurrent of joy that seemed to be everywhere. There was a lot of smiling, a lot of hugging, and a lot of love. I watched one competitor run 20 yards and then jump three feet. I watched a boy run with his inseparable teddy bear. One girl in a wheelchair, with gnarled hands, took about 90 seconds to travel about 25 meters on a tartan track. Everyone, and I mean everyone who watched, waited patiently and then cheered at the end. She was a hero. Half the time I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

That day my daughter, Cami, participated and came home with a gold medal around her neck for the 10 meter unassisted walk. The irony was laughable since Cami doesn’t have a competitive bone in her body. But I was still happy for her. She’s non-verbal but her spirit speaks volumes. She’s not “normal” but Cami’s soul points like a compass to a world that needs a little more love and a little less pretense. Ultimately I hate to admit it, but I am one of the “normals” too. I judge and fake and hide with the best of them. But sometimes, thanks to Cami, I get a glimpse of how beautiful this world could be, if it was just a little more “retarded.”