Jonathan

“Maple syrup is supposed to be on the table before the pancakes.
Of course when they bring the maple syrup after the pancakes, it'll definitely be too late.”
-Rain Man

My friend Robin recently pointed me towards a blog – “Confessions of a Pioneer Woman” that has gotten me thinking recently. The Pioneer Woman writes (a lot), she takes pictures (gorgeous ones) and she cooks. One topic of interest to me? Her brother, Mike. Her first entry about Mike starts like this:

“I Have a Retarded Brother. His Name is Mike.

I love not having to whip out annoying euphemisms like "Developmentally Disabled" or "Mentally Challenged" or "Intellectually Delayed." As a blood relative of a retarded person, I’m automatically exempt. I get to say retarded. Retarded.

I love Mike. He’s my big brother. Well, he’s my older brother. I’m bigger. Taller. About 8 inches taller. Overall, having Mike as a brother has been a good thing.”

Most anyone reading this probably already knows why it struck a chord with me. I, too, have a retarded brother. His name is Jon. I nodded knowingly when I read her comments about euphemisms and the rights afforded a blood relative. Because Jon is retarded. He’s not developmentally delayed or challenged. He’s retarded. I realize that’s not the PC way to say it anymore and I absolutely hate how that word has morphed into the common vernacular. I cringe every time I hear someone say “You’re retarded…That show was retarded…This game is retarded.” When I say something “un-PC” about Jon or the people that surround him, I usually preface it with, “he’s my brother, I can say that.” I had no idea that other siblings of retarded people also said that.

I too, catch myself having to explain that he’s my older brother but more like a younger brother. I admit sometimes I dread when someone making small talk asks if I have any siblings. Because you can never leave it at just “Yes.” It’s always followed up with “older or younger?” No one ever expects that there isn’t a short way to answer that.

“Well, he’s older, but he’s mentally retarded, so he’s sort of like a younger brother.” That usually gets a tilted head and an “Aww, I’m sorry to hear that. That must have been hard on you.” I never really know how to answer that. Would life have been easier on all involved if he had been “normal?” Who knows. Would he have been an angelic, straight A student with an equal aptitude for athletics and the arts? Probably not. He probably would have had his own “normal” issues that we, as a family would have to deal with. I was “normal.” And by “normal,” I mean a moody, bratty teenager. I got good grades, but I argued and back-talked daily. Jon is what he is and, not knowing anything different, I’ve gotten used to that.

It’s funny. I don’t think of myself as different because of Jon. It’s just not something I think about all that often. Over the years, people have said that I’m probably a more compassionate person, more patient, more understanding of people who are different. Obviously everyone is a product of their surroundings – I sometimes wonder what I would have been like if Jon had been a normal big brother.

As I read through some of the reader comments attached to Pioneer Woman’s blog, they’re all positive. They all commend her for her funny, heartwarming stories. Because that’s all they are to them. Sweet stories. I read her entries about Mike with tears in my eyes, understanding every word, feeling like I’d just met a kind of kindred spirit. Even tho it seems her experience with her brother is worlds different from mine, everything she said rang true to me.

It’s funny. I read things all the time that I agree with or that “speak to me,” I don’t know why these particular blogs have gotten me thinking about Jon. One comment Robin made was that if PW’s blog did anything to open the eyes of her zillions of readers, that she’s doing a really good thing by talking about her brother.

And maybe in my own rambling way, I can do the same thing.