The Special Ed. department in our school was practically non-existent. When I was 13, I saw my sister in the hallway being yelled at by her teacher. I stepped up and said “I don’t think she understands what you’re saying.” The teacher told me “When you are at home, you can take care of your sister.” My mom was at the school in 5 minutes, and my sister never went back to school.

My family never got to go on regular vacations, we would call ahead to our favorite restaurant to get a private table, my parents could rarely go to events together…but I have a special set of skills that can only be gained by being the sister of Melanie.

I have a very special relationship with my autistic cousin. He is a very special person in my life, and he, too, considers me a special person in his. Not everyone understands him; not just his speech, but also his mannerisms. I have to help others adjust to him, as he enjoys sparkly things, belts, and watches, and will sometimes grab someone’s arm to examine his or her watch!

I also have a degree in special education. Although I do not work, my heart is with working with students who have disabilities. The students in our youth group know that the word “retarded” is not tolerated! I am blessed to have a few students with special-needs in our youth group.

One thing I always remind my “other” students, and my children, is that the student with a handicap is a PERSON with a disability, not a “disabled person.” That although someone may have special needs, he or she is a person first.

My brother has Down Syndrome, and so much of what you said resonates with me. When I drop him off at the bus stop and see the other kids cut a wide path around him, I feel indignant. When someone uses the word “retard” or “retarded” as an insult (which is quite frequently in our society, unfortunately,) I am angry at the ignorance and intolerance toward people with special needs proliferated in our culture, and I’m passionate (and probably a little too zealous) about addressing that prejudice. Most of all, though, I look back at the moments before my brother when I, as a 12 or 13 year old trying to find my way, avoided the kids that were different in my school, or didn’t say anything when other kids were making fun, and I feel ashamed of myself. And I’m determined that my daughters will be different – that by knowing my brother (and several other of our friends with special needs) they will be a voice for those who rarely get heard.

My brother is quite possibly the most genuinely loving, most selflessly giving, most incredible person I know. And knowing him makes me a better person.