Sticks and Stones Can Break My Bones...but Words Can REALLY Hurt Me.
by Stuart R. Mullins
The Changing Meaning of a Hurtful Word
When I was a child, the word retarded was a clinical description. It referred to someone with a developmental disability that caused them to function below a certain IQ level.
Even today, the dictionary lists it as meaning “less advanced in mental, physical, or social development.” But there’s also an added “informal” definition: “very foolish or stupid.”
That’s where the problem lies. Somewhere along the way, a clinical term turned into a playground insult—and it lost all sense of compassion.
A Memory from Childhood
I remember a boy from my neighborhood who had what was then called “mental retardation.” That was the official, clinical term at the time, and my mother explained it to me carefully.
Sure, kids could be cruel. Some used the term unkindly when referring to him—but never toward people without the condition. My friends and I teased each other constantly, but medical labels weren’t part of our vocabulary.
I honestly don’t know when, how, or why retard morphed into its current slang form, but it bothers me deeply.
The Day It Got Personal
Maybe my strong feelings trace back to something that happened during my first semester at Ferrum College, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains about 35 miles south of Roanoke. I am almost positive that I have never told this story to anyone. Maybe my wife at some point, but I'm not even sure about that.
One Friday morning, after my 8:00 a.m. English class, I came back to the dorm to find my roommate asleep in his top bunk. Sleeping and playing guitar were his two favorite pastimes (his only pastimes, actually)—which probably explains why his grades soon sent him packing.
As I gathered my materials for my 10:00 a.m. math class, he stirred and said:
Him: “Hey man, there was some retard in here a while ago.”
Me: “What?!”
Him: “Yeah, this retard came in and started tapping me on the forehead. He was looking for Craig.” (a mutual friend)
He laughed it off and said it “freaked him out.” I joked and moved on, not thinking much of it—until later that morning.
When the Truth Hit Hard
It was Parents’ Weekend. My mom and dad had stayed overnight in the nearby town of Rocky Mount, and we had plans to drive around campus together before my next class.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, Mom said casually, “Your dad came up to your room before you got back from class. I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted. He said he woke up your roommate and asked for you.”
My heart sank.
My father suffered from a neurological disorder that affected him physically, mentally, and emotionally. For years, he’d mistakenly called me “Greg,” confusing me with a cousin named Greg South. In addition, his speech had become slurred and difficult to understand.
My roommate—just waking from a dead sleep—must have misheard “Greg” as “Craig.” And in that moment, he labeled my dad “a retard.”
The Word That Stung
That day still hurts.
My dad was a brilliant, kind, and loving man who had once been sharp and strong. But illness had taken its toll, and now he was being mistaken for someone with a severe developmental disability—and mocked for it.
My roommate didn’t mean harm; he simply didn’t understand. But the sting of that word stayed with me. It turned a son’s quiet heartbreak into a lifelong conviction.
Let’s Retire the Word for Good
So yes—let’s banish that word. For good.
Not because it’s “politically incorrect,” but because it’s inhumane. Words carry weight, and sometimes they carry pain we can’t see.
The next time you hear someone toss that word around like a joke, remember: someone else might be hearing it as a wound that never fully healed.
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