Sarah Palin's kick in the gut

I'm not venturing into the political here, but the recent controversy between Sarah Palin and the cartoon FAMILY GUY caught my attention. Mrs. Palin and her daughter Bristol apparently caught the show which portrayed a Down Syndrome adult. Sarah described her reaction as like being kicked in the gut.

I really know that feeling.

Now it kind of turns out the portrayal that Sarah saw as negative was actually performed by an actress who has Down Syndrome. And that actress has spoken out saying her characterization was both accurate and funny.

I didn't see it. I don't know anything about it. But I do know about being kicked in the gut. It is a sensation with which most parents of mentally handicapped people can identify. And I can remember when my reaction, like Sarah's, was to lash out.

For months now a couple of mom's (both of them with children under age two) have been pushing for legislation that would change the language of official parlance to exclude the word retarded. They've been joined in this by such stalwart organizations as the ARC and Special Olympics.

I can go along with that. But personally, I've always found the R-word useful. It's a good English word that people understand. If I say to a new neighbor, "My child is mentally retarded." They get it.

If I say to a new neighbor, "My child has an intellectual handicap with decreased cognitive functioning and multiple developmental delays." I may get questions about whether I think she'll grow out of it. They may suggest that maybe if I tried to "work with her". Or they might go into great detail about a talk show last Thursday on the incredible powers of fortified kelp.

Still, I cringe when I hear a ponytailed teenager giggling to her girlfriends and saying, "That is so retarded!"

Whatever.

I think the real difference between my position here and that of the Palin's and the moms pushing the legislation is one of time on the job. I hate to put myself forward as the grizzled, old veteran with sage words of wisdom. But I guess that's who I am.

Ladies, I do not fault your efforts, but I'd urge you not to waste too much time in the wrong battle. Yes, you may succeed in washing out every teenage mouth with soap. But no matter how PC you make the rest of the world, you will never make your child a part of it.

What? You can't be saying that. I am. And that's okay.

Because, trust me, your child doesn't want what you want.

A fellow special need's mom, a grizzled veteran when I was still wet behind the ears told me once, "We spent thirty years trying to make it possible for our son to live in our world. We finally figured out that we have to live in his."

In my novels, I've written a lot of characters that are mentally handicapped. I do it because I write from life and that's been the life I've lived. Mostly I've tried not to portray my daughter. She has a right to privacy, even if she doesn't know about it. However, in the book I have coming out in July, there is a character that is a real homage to Leila and the world she inhabits.

It's not the world that has any of our typical definitions about achievement or consumption.

Leila loves her job and thinks it's fun to get her paycheck. Whether it's $12 or $120, she doesn't see a difference. The plastic beads that got thrown from the Fiesta float are as dear to her as the pearls my mother wore when she married. Leila knows what she likes and what she wants and my take on this is meaningless. I can insist to her that the lovely, expensive purse she got for her birthday is much better for carrying to church. But if she really wants to be seen with the glittery piece of Hannah Montana plastic, should I forbid her such a small pleasure?

She finds joy on her own terms and I think it's wrong for me to try to change her.

She had a fellow classmate who truly loved cleaning. He loved the broom, the mop, the dust rag. He was thrilled with the power to change the whole look of a white porcelain sink with only a damp sponge. It was such a feeling of accomplishment. His father, a successful, high powered executive was incensed that his protected, privileged child, despite his handicap, would choose such menial work. Although there was clearly a place of employment for his son's skills, the father insisted that he would never allow his child to pursue work as a janitorial helper. This was obviously not about the son, but the preconceptions and values of the father.

I believe the same can be said for these young mothers. They are trying to protect their children from a word that means nothing to the child, but is fully loaded to wound themselves.

Sticks and stones, as well as the more literary slings and arrows, are more often the problem of the parents. They know how THEY would feel. But it will be many years before they can even begin to understand how their child would interpret it.

Cruelty, teasing, they are bad things. We all know that. And every parent should try to instill in their offspring an empathy with and protectiveness for those weaker, whether physically, mentally or spiritually. But it's a result produced more often with a fine, skilled needle than an heavily wielded broad axe.

Raising a mentally handicapped child, being responsible for a mentally handicapped adult, these are not jobs for the faint hearted. But aching hearts grow stronger day by day by day.

And those kicks to the gut? The solar plexus gets so sturdy that the kicker will likely break a toe.

Many years ago a well meaning supporter in my Sunday School class quoted the hackneyed wisdom that "Special children are born to special parents." The truth about what makes us parents so special, is that we cannot go forward based on our own emotions and our own experience. We've got to learn how to be happy and prosper in a universe that will never settle into the rules that we would make for it. We swallow our own fears and hurts and disappointments, we submerge our expectations and determinedly head out into unfamiliar territory. And we do that all for a goofy smile and a laugh that's just a little bit too loud.