Dear Santa,   

If you are really out there please, oh please, listen carefully. I have been extra good this year in hopes you will grant me this one wish. I say "wish" because this gift is not one that can be put under the tree — it can’t be bought from Toys "R" Us or wrapped in a box with a pretty bow on top. I am learning this gift can hardly be retained by students taught in school or even by caring friends. I try to grant this gift myself to those around me, but it seems I just don’t have the power. You, Santa, are my last resort.

I am referring to the gift of understanding. Specifically, understanding why the word “retarded” is not meant to describe Kimmy after answering a question wrong in class, or Johnny after he slept through his 10 a.m. Understanding why it shouldn’t only be siblings, parents and friends of special needs kids who cringe at the word. The gift of understanding that kids who are mentally challenged are people with feelings and know that you, Alex, who got an C on your test and called yourself “retarded,” is comparing yourself to a person who was born with challenges that you will never, ever face.

It's almost 2015. Physically and mentally challenged people are members of society who are now welcomed into our schools and work places — that is much more than our parents could say at our age. It's time to jump off the “retarded” bandwagon and find a new word to describe Kimmy and Johnny.

Santa, if you could place a little wrapped box under everyone’s tree that will help them understand all of this, I’ll leave out extra cookies for you next year.     

Yours truly, 

Kelly