There’s a couple f words, but this is the way.
My uncle was retarded. I sit next to a retard in church. I joined the church I am in because I was at a house party hosted by people who invited retards to attend. And I thought, "my uncle's church was so great; they treated him with such kindness, such generoisity. Maybe this church will be loving the way Uncle Barton's church was." So I joined their church.
When I see these fucking pearl-clutchers telling me off for saying "handicapped," "disabled" or, God forbid, "retarded," I know immediately that they spend no time with actual retarded people, nor are there any they care about. They don't understand the sense of humour you need; they don't understand that retarded people may have cognitive struggles but they do actually know they're retarded and have made peace with it. They don't understand that the retarded person often laughs first at how they made a mistake and wants you to laugh along to downplay things, focus on the good time.
I fucking hate these pious secular church ladies telling me not to say "retarded." Do they know how much it upset and confused my uncle in the 80s to have to go from being "retarded" to "challenged" in order to make, them happy, not him!?
I spent every Christmas holiday as a kid, until he died when I was 17, helping my retarded uncle Barton learn his ABCs and how to spell his name. Yet, once again, somehow, I'm the bad guy.