Spread the Word to End the Word

Our language frames how we think about others.
Help eliminate the use of the R-word in everyday speech.

I've written a little about "The R Word" before, here, here, and here. But this is the first time I'm participating in the awareness day (March 31st).

Last Sunday evening, on our way back from visiting my younger sister, we paused at a rest stop in rural southern Illinois.

Ellie and I went into the large accessible stall at the back of the women's restroom and spent quite a while there. I'm acutely uncomfortable in public bathrooms (or, really, any bathrooms) so I sang, danced, talked, did whatever I could to avoid freaking out about how long Ellie was taking and the fact that she kept grabbing onto that disgusting lip at the front of the toilet between the two sides of the seat. I knew full well that when I stepped over to help with wiping and pulling up pants, she was going to grab at me with those nasty, nasty hands. Oh, the trials of parenthood.

Eventually, two people came into the bathroom and went into stalls of their own. They turned out to be a mother and daughter, probably in their late 40's and early teens, respectively.

The mother's phone rang. And she answered it. In the public bathroom stall. (I hate that.)

"God, your sister's retarded," she said to her daughter after ending the call.

"What'd she say?"

"She asked me if I was in a town somewhere. I was like, yeah, where else would I be? I'd be in pretty big trouble if I wasn't!"

The two shared a laugh at the absent daughter's expense, but I was on her side. I mean, we actually weren't "in a town somewhere." As far as I could tell, we were miles from anywhere. And what's wrong with a daughter wanting to know where her mother is, anyway?

But there were so many things about this exchange that bothered me. Like the fact that the mother was so rude to her daughter on the phone. And then she insulted one of her children to another of her children. And, of course, that she used "The R Word" as an insult.

I thought about how to handle the situation. From the relative anonymity of my stall, I could call out, "I'm in here with my young daughter, who has Down syndrome, and that's language I prefer for her not to hear."

The mother finished up and left, but the daughter stayed. I could meet up with her at the sinks and tell her why what her mother said bothered me. But that would put the daughter in an awkward position.

I could try to find the mother outside after we were all done and have a private conversation about how I found her language offensive. I didn't seriously consider lecturing her about her parenting style.

In the end, I did nothing at all.

I hated it, and I hated Ellie hearing that exchange, though it didn't seem to register with her. Fortunately, I don't think Ellie's ever heard that word applied to her before, so even if she was listening the the stall-next-door conversation - which I do not believe she was hearing - the insult probably didn't seem personal to her. I could be wrong about that; Ellie always surprises me by "getting" far more than I think she's heard, let alone processed.

But in the end, we were at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere, at night. The woman seemed . . . volatile. I had no idea how she'd react to a public correction from a stranger, but I couldn't realistically imagine a positive outcome.

So I let it go.

But I really didn't. Because I'm still angry about it.