A recent thread at RFID, specifically within the comments and the charge that the use of the phrase 'the bright boy' was a "degradingly patronizing phrase" that I would not use if he were not disabled, has me fired up. This, undoubtedly, was the commenter's purpose, as the blogosphere is littered with his screeds, enough so that I banned him from Countering and Thelma and Louise told him he could move on, as well. Why I engaged him again, over at RFID, with what I know of him, knowing it was a collosal waste of time, is beyond me. I've left all his comments in place because I think it reflects poorly on him and serves a purpose. On a post about what neurodiversity means to those of us running RFID that someone could go so over the top and read all manner of things into the post, into our collective writings: it serves as a good reminder that some people are asses whose only goal is to mess with people.
Still, and I afford this person more weight than he deserves, that anyone could read my posts regarding my beautiful son and take that position sticks in my throat. For many of us parents blogging, we do not refer to our children by their names but instead nicknames, in part to protect them, in part because our nicknames for them reflect attributes we delight in.
So, it sticks, as it feels like an attack not of me, but of my bright boy. Would I still call him my bright boy if he weren't disabled? Hell, yes, I would. He shines. He is sweet and radiant and I love him with all of me. Would I love him less if he had not been autistic, if he had not had a stroke, if I had not nearly lost him? No, I don't think I so; he would still shine. Does he shine brighter because of all this, to me? Yes. Because I live daily knowing that he has a blood clotting disorder that can take him from me without warning, because I have been there, sat there, lived through the experiences I have with him, he shines all the brighter.
**To the particular commenter: now we're done.**