When did Rude become Commonplace?

During the course of my lifetime, my parents taught me right from wrong. Share your toys, don't hit, don't point, don't stare (not to mention "Say 'are we there yet?' one more time and you're walking").

My sister Kelie is a Special Needs Student. She graduated at the age of 19 from high school in 2005. Since then, she's stayed involved with her old class, participating in dances, social events, and the Mount Everest: Special Olympics.

Special Olympics has always been special, not just to her, but to my family. She was dragged to my cross country and track meets, forced to sit through school and outside choir practices and concerts. She could never be part of it because everyone viewed her as "different". Our family just always saw her as Kelie. But for her, this was her day to shine; where not only her parents and siblings, but her aunts and uncles, cousins and friends came to see her compete. She relished in the attention, even taking all of us over to meet her teachers. Her teacher commented that she must be really loved if everyone came to see her, and Kelie beamed.

I was her protector. Her freshman year of high school I would race across the school so I could be there to take her from class to class so she wouldn't get lost in the shuffle and miss her room. I walked ahead of her, feeling her hand on my backpack, leading her through the masses of students so she wouldn't get hurt. She was everyone's favorite. No matter what her day was like, she always smiled. She was happy.

And one day, my world and the way I viewed others was changed dramatically. While walking down a back hallway, her arm linked in mine, trying to avoid the crowds, I heard a football player say the forbidden word: retard.

I turned to face him. "What?" I asked.

"You heard me."

"Apologize." I, a lowly outcast, was trying to force a football player three times my size and surrounded by fellow players to apologize. But I was resilient. After the third time of asking, and three times he defied me, I became Super Sister. With the strength moms get to lift a car off their child, I lifted this football player an inch off the ground and pinned him to the locker.

He apologized, I put him down, and continued to weave my sister through the hazards as I heard his buddies say, "Dude, you got your butt kicked by a girl." An hour later, I was called down to the office and was almost suspended. I was just defending her, and saw nothing wrong with it.

Since then, we've both grown up a lot, mainly just because of time itself. I now have children of my own, and defend them with the same love and sensitivity I did for Kelie. But I fear that the rudeness of society is just beginning, and my boys will have so much more to go up against when they get to be that age. I hope that they have the same resilience, but that they go about it differently than I handled my own issues.

I was an outcast. I didn't have the right hair, the right clothes; I couldn't even speak correctly. I enjoyed reading and writing, learning new things and refused to drink, do drugs or have sex. I had too much on my plate as it was. I was teased mercilessly by pretty much everyone, to the point I developed anxiety attacks, couldn't see straight, and had to run out of the room at least once during every class to throw up. Finally one night, I overdosed on pain pills and waited for death. But my mom found the empty bottle, found me, and asked me if I took them. The moment I saw the fear, concern and pain on her face, I realized I didn't want to die. I had my stomach pumped and was kept overnight for observation.

I hope my boys don't have to go through all that pain on their own. I hope they can depend on me to help fight the battles that are too big to handle alone. But most of all, I hope society can change.