You're Special, Aunt

[Guest guest]

Sunday August

17, 2008

You’re

special, Aunt

By ADELE LEE

In these

politically-correct times, ‘special person’ is a euphemism for

someone with disabilities. But to those who have known, loved and been touched

by such a person, ‘special’ means just that, literally.

THE first time I

heard the word “retarded”, I was probably too young to even know

that I had heard it.

When I was a

little older, probably 11 or 12, I asked my mother one day what the word meant.

Mum just glared at me with those piercing black eyes that made it clear she

wanted me to forget about that particular word.

Being afflicted

with incurable curiosity, I went straight to the dictionary. After reading its

definition, I just started to think about what retarded meant.

Being the young

child that I was, I still could not grasp its true meaning. If it’s the

anonym of accelerated, does the word mean that something’s slow?

And how can it

apply to a person? Is a person who is retarded slow in their movement? I wanted

to know.

Then it struck

me ­— Aunt was retarded! But my family and relatives preferred to

call her “unique”. It didn’t matter to me. She was Aunt

, no matter what they called her.

She was my

mother’s younger sister and had always been part of my life. She stayed

with my parents during the holidays, and I always saw her frequently during the

rest of the year.

She talked

“funny”, with a nasal honk of someone with a malformed palate. She

sounded fine to me.

When I was 13 or

so, I saw my older brother speeding around with his brand new car, and in my

innocence, I asked Aunt when she would get her driver’s licence.

“I

can’t.”

“Why? Even

my big brother can pass the test, I’m sure you can!”

Aunt was

always a smart person to me, and at that time, her being unable to pass the

driver’s test seemed preposterous.

“Well,

because I’m ? you know ? retarded,” she replied with a tinge of

disappointment in her voice.

Then after a few

short seconds, her cheerful self returned, and her face broke into a broad

grin.

Oh, I thought.

That’s why people would stare at her on the streets, giving her strange

looks and wrinkle up their noses in disdain.

But to me Aunt

seemed fine, she seemed perfectly normal. Of course, there was trouble in

understanding her, because she spoke in a strange tone of voice.

But, so what? I

paid attention to her every word, even though it didn’t seem proper when

she said it. I always thought that it was just an accent.

Aunt was

not retarded, not to me, at least. She worked in the post office, and she got

on the bus every morning. She could cook simple dishes, she could tell jokes

and give me presents.

Why were people

cruel to a person they didn’t even know? Because her eyes were slightly

slanted? Because she looked different?

I guess

it’s the thought imposed by society that people who have Down Syndrome

are freaks who are not as smart as we normal people are.

Once, I was with

my mother, grandma and Aunt walking in a mall, and Aunt was smiling

and pointing at the shop lots as mum patiently explained each and every one of

them to her.

Then there was a

man pointed at Aunt and called to his friends and said: “Hey look!

The circus is in town! They have the mongoloid show!” They all laughed.

I remember how

grandma and mum looked at that instant. Grandma touched her chest, as if to

massage her aching heart, and mum’s nostrils flared in anger. I could see

that she wanted to give those ignorant imbeciles a piece of her mind.

Aunt just

stopped dead in her tracks. She began to rub her eyes with her pudgy fingers,

and it was obvious that she was crying.

I hated the rude

creeps with their infantile and stupid name calling, I hated them because they

hurt my beloved aunt.

That day, I

wondered who had told Aunt that she was “retarded”.

Who was it who

fooled her into thinking that she couldn’t do anything she wanted to? Why

would that person want to make her feel as if she was a worthless pile of dirt?

My mother once told me that I could make anything happen if I put my heart in

it. She also told me to dream the impossible dream, to never give up.

But here was

Aunt , limited to only a few things in life because of her unfortunate

disability.

This was my aunt

that I was talking about. She could tickle me and make me laugh, she was

helpful around the house and would volunteer to do anything ranging from fixing

the light bulb to pulling out weeds in the lawn, she was a woman who had many,

many friends.

We all loved

Aunt . She was smart in so many ways. Why didn’t other people see

this? Why should they insult and hurt her?

As I got older,

I guessed I began to accept that Aunt was slightly retarded. I could see

the difference between her and the other “normal” people.

But I pushed

away that thought. I would not use that label on her. When my friends asked me

about her, I would just merely answer: “She’s unique. She’s

different.”

Aunt was

Wonder Woman to me, a person with the courage to take trips overseas, go

hiking, and make friends; something that I still find hard to do when I’m

put in a place filled with strangers. She was so warm and loving that anyone

could approach her. That’s what made her so special, so out of the

ordinary.

I was shocked

when I heard that Aunty had passed away when I was out of town.

When she was

just an infant, the doctors explained to grandma that the chances of her making

it to adulthood were extremely slim because her immune system was weak. Grandma

accepted that her youngest daughter had left the world, but she still cried

whenever she thought about Aunt .

Mum always said

that Aunt was the best sister anyone could ever ask for. She also said

that wasn’t quite “put together properly”.

But the heart

that Aunt had was as full and rich as anyone’s I have ever known.

If the capacity to love, laugh and befriend others are the hallmarks of

intelligence, my Aunt was be a genius.

She was among us

for 34 years. She will always be one of us.

http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2008/8/17/lifefocus/1641615 & sec=lifefocus

[Guest guest]

thank you for sharing with us - Aunt sounds wonderful!!Sunday August 17, 2008 You’re special, Aunt By ADELE LEE In these politically- correct times, ‘special person’ is a euphemism for someone with disabilities. But to those who have known, loved and been touched by such a person, ‘special’ means just that, literally. THE first time I heard the word “retardedâ€, I was probably too young to even know that I had heard it. When I was a little older, probably 11 or 12, I asked my mother one day what the word meant. Mum just glared at me with those piercing black eyes that made it clear she wanted me to forget about that particular word. Being afflicted with incurable curiosity, I went straight to the dictionary. After reading its definition, I just started to think about what retarded meant. Being the young child that I was, I still could not grasp its true meaning. If it’s the anonym of accelerated, does the word mean that something’s slow? And how can it apply to a person? Is a person who is retarded slow in their movement? I wanted to know. Then it struck me & shy;— Aunt was retarded! But my family and relatives preferred to call her “uniqueâ€. It didn’t matter to me. She was Aunt , no matter what they called her. She was my mother’s younger sister and had always been part of my life. She stayed with my parents during the holidays, and I always saw her frequently during the rest of the year. She talked “funnyâ€, with a nasal honk of someone with a malformed palate. She sounded fine to me. When I was 13 or so, I saw my older brother speeding around with his brand new car, and in my innocence, I asked Aunt when she would get her driver’s licence. “I can’t.†“Why? Even my big brother can pass the test, I’m sure you can!†Aunt was always a smart person to me, and at that time, her being unable to pass the driver’s test seemed preposterous. “Well, because I’m ? you know ? retarded,†she replied with a tinge of disappointment in her voice. Then after a few short seconds, her cheerful self returned, and her face broke into a broad grin. Oh, I thought. That’s why people would stare at her on the streets, giving her strange looks and wrinkle up their noses in disdain. But to me Aunt seemed fine, she seemed perfectly normal. Of course, there was trouble in understanding her, because she spoke in a strange tone of voice. But, so what? I paid attention to her every word, even though it didn’t seem proper when she said it. I always thought that it was just an accent. Aunt was not retarded, not to me, at least. She worked in the post office, and she got on the bus every morning. She could cook simple dishes, she could tell jokes and give me presents. Why were people cruel to a person they didn’t even know? Because her eyes were slightly slanted? Because she looked different? I guess it’s the thought imposed by society that people who have Down Syndrome are freaks who are not as smart as we normal people are. Once, I was with my mother, grandma and Aunt walking in a mall, and Aunt was smiling and pointing at the shop lots as mum patiently explained each and every one of them to her. Then there was a man pointed at Aunt and called to his friends and said: “Hey look! The circus is in town! They have the mongoloid show!†They all laughed. I remember how grandma and mum looked at that instant. Grandma touched her chest, as if to massage her aching heart, and mum’s nostrils flared in anger. I could see that she wanted to give those ignorant imbeciles a piece of her mind. Aunt just stopped dead in her tracks. She began to rub her eyes with her pudgy fingers, and it was obvious that she was crying. I hated the rude creeps with their infantile and stupid name calling, I hated them because they hurt my beloved aunt. That day, I wondered who had told Aunt that she was “retardedâ€. Who was it who fooled her into thinking that she couldn’t do anything she wanted to? Why would that person want to make her feel as if she was a worthless pile of dirt? My mother once told me that I could make anything happen if I put my heart in it. She also told me to dream the impossible dream, to never give up. But here was Aunt , limited to only a few things in life because of her unfortunate disability. This was my aunt that I was talking about. She could tickle me and make me laugh, she was helpful around the house and would volunteer to do anything ranging from fixing the light bulb to pulling out weeds in the lawn, she was a woman who had many, many friends. We all loved Aunt . She was smart in so many ways. Why didn’t other people see this? Why should they insult and hurt her? As I got older, I guessed I began to accept that Aunt was slightly retarded. I could see the difference between her and the other “normal†people. But I pushed away that thought. I would not use that label on her. When my friends asked me about her, I would just merely answer: “She’s unique. She’s different.†Aunt was Wonder Woman to me, a person with the courage to take trips overseas, go hiking, and make friends; something that I still find hard to do when I’m put in a place filled with strangers. She was so warm and loving that anyone could approach her. That’s what made her so special, so out of the ordinary. I was shocked when I heard that Aunty had passed away when I was out of town. When she was just an infant, the doctors explained to grandma that the chances of her making it to adulthood were extremely slim because her immune system was weak. Grandma accepted that her youngest daughter had left the world, but she still cried whenever she thought about Aunt . Mum always said that Aunt was the best sister anyone could ever ask for. She also said that wasn’t quite “put together properlyâ€. But the heart that Aunt had was as full and rich as anyone’s I have ever known. If the capacity to love, laugh and befriend others are the hallmarks of intelligence, my Aunt was be a genius. She was among us for 34 years. She will always be one of us. http://thestar. com.my/lifestyle /story.asp? file=/2008/ 8/17/lifefocus/ 1641615 & sec=lifefocus