The R word.  Retarded. I hate the R word.  I hate when it is directed at someone in humor – “Hahahaha! You’re so retarded!”. I hate when it is directed at someone in cruelty – “Are you retarded?”. 

I. hate. that. word. 

Yesterday, my boy was on the bus headed home from school, and some smart-mouthed wildling on the bus asked him, “Are you retarded?”.  My boy is NOT retarded – as a matter of fact, he clearly SOARS in intelligence far and away above the hellion that asked the question. Intelligence would have looked beyond any differences that may still be detectable in my boy to find the awesomely cool, funny, and enjoyable young man that he is.  Intelligence would have recognized that sometimes what makes a person different is exactly what makes them amazing.  For example, my boy isn’t cruel – he would never have asked another student such a question.  He has never used the R word against another person. He would never reject another person. He doesn’t see differences – he sees people and knows that we’re ALL different.  He doesn’t follow the crowd, doesn’t get caught up in trends, doesn’t rebel against authority because it’s “cool”, doesn’t disrespect his teachers, parents, bus driver, other students, or anyone else with whom he interacts.  My boy is kind, gentle, loving, empathetic, generous, entertaining, outgoing, helpful, friendly, and GOOD. My boy is all that is good and right in this world that’s rapidly going crazy.  He’s a true friend when true friends are hard to find.  The bus brat will never know all these things, however, because he only sees an opportunity to lash out, to bully, to speak hurtful words in an attempt to be “funny” to the other wildlings around him. 

My boy told me about the incident, and I was livid.  I’m still livid.  I want to jump in my car and drive to the house where my boy indicates the wildling lives.  I want to go, knock on the door, and tell his parents that they’re raising a hellion, slap the smirk off the offending mouth and tell him that his cruelty and attempt at humor has blinded him to the opportunity to know an amazing person.  I want to shame his parents. I want them all to feel the same pain that my boy felt – that I feel. I want to return cruelty for cruelty. It’s human nature blended with Mama Bear rage – I was ready to kick butt and take names.  Then, my boy….my amazing, wonderful boy…said, “But, he apologized.”

And that was it.  Right there, in three words, my boy demonstrated the Love and Forgiveness of Christ. I have no doubt the words still sting him – but, he apologized. So, we have to forgive.  Can I be honest and say that I don’t WANT to forgive?  I want to write a scathing letter to school administration, have the boy yanked from the bus and disciplined, reprimand the bus driver for allowing hate-filled words to be uttered on his bus.  I know.  It’s illogical.  Doesn’t matter; I’m a Mom and I want justice.  But, he apologized.

Oh, to have a heart like my boy – that doesn’t bear grudges, that readily forgives, gives a zillion second chances, and then starts over on third chances when the seconds run out. 70 x 7 fleshed out by a boy who sees life through different eyes.  The world would be a beautiful place if there were more eyes and hearts like his.  I would be a better person were I more like he is.  Funny, how as parents we watch our children and look for ourselves in them.  More often, I find myself watching him and looking for him in me.  He is my teacher, more than I’ve ever been his.

So, I’ll step back from my agenda of retribution.  I’ll wait to see what the future bus rides bring – perhaps a friendship, perhaps more cruel words. It remains to be seen how this will play out in the coming days.  If a friendship grows, I’ll be glad I held my tongue and accepted my son’s words, “But, he apologized.” If more cruelty comes, then I’ve got more ammunition to use in my scathing letter – and perhaps a good defense should I resort to mayhem. Mama Mayhem. It has a certain ring to it. I like it.  You can call me that. J