Retard

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god!!!!! Today is the worst/best day OF MY LIFE!! I HAVE NEVER been so embarrassed! I called my special needs kids “retarded”. On a positive note, Matt touched my shoulder! AHHH! SO, there I was- crying because I had called them retarded…” - age 17


Sweet Jesus. Remembering this day makes me physically ill. This exclamation-mark riddled excerpt is an emotional rollercoaster. I hope you all enjoy reading this, because it’s getting excruciating…


My senior year I offered to help in the special needs room for one hour a day. There were a handful of us who did this: my friend Jenny, a girl named Summer, and Matt. Oh, Matt. He was the one I put on a pedestal, my day-dream king. Matt: the glorious love of my high school life. I’m fairly certain he starred in many girls fantasies. He was an easy crush to have, because who WOULDN’T love him? He was athletic, smart, witty, AND wanted to help the special needs kids?! He was a living and breathing, movie-teen heartthrob with a heart of gold. We were friendly acquaintances and saw each other outside of school on six specific (and extensively documented) occasions. All of which will be divulged at a later blog date. Matt recently became a doctor, so at least I had good taste.


On the day in question, we had been playing “hang-man” with the class. It was my turn at the board and I was filling in the spaces for the word “cotton”, the current vocabulary word. Being grammatically derelict, I spelled the word “cotten”. One of the students (who performed at a 2nd grade reading level) pointed this out, and I said “Ugh, I’m so RETARDED.”


A strange energy filtered in. I immediately knew, and desperately wanted a do-over. My face went from red to magenta, and I was about to turn back and pretend nothing happened when somebody yelled “BAD WORD! HURT WORD!” Another chimed in repeating, “NO, NO, NO, NO” while pointing a chubby finger in my face. Justin, a sweet-natured downs syndrome boy whispered, “You shouldn’t say that” and hung his head over and over in exaggerated shame.


I swallowed hard, fighting a synchronized puke-cry-scream. I had managed to misspell a third grade level vocab. word whilst simultaneously using derogatory slang. Fantastic.


I explained they were right; nobody should ever say that word. I feigned regaining my composure as they promptly guessed “cotton”. The bell rang shortly thereafter, and I was dismissed into the hallway to shed embarrassed and well-deserved tears. Jenny followed, laughing at my misfortune while trying to comfort me. I remember leaning my forehead against a muddy red locker and wishing I could climb into it. Of course, still being hugely fat, THAT was out of the question. It was during this low point I felt a hand patting my shoulder. I looked up and there was Matt, with a genuinely concerned look on his face. He smiled majestically and said “its okay, it could happen to anybody.”

Angels began their harmonious song.


I whimpered a “thanks” and he went on his way. As I watched his back-pack bounce down the hallway, Jenny and I turned towards each other. He rounded the corner, and we instantly jumped up and down in teenage girl elatedness. I let out an exasperated/ relieved sigh, raised my arms triumphantly and declared to whoever was in earshot; “WORTH IT!”