The beauty and the rude beast

Once upon a time there lived a family in a small estate close to wild Irish Sea. They had 3 little girls, all of them were beautiful, adorable and somewhat quirky kids, a bit like their parents, really, but a lot more charming.

They were out and about a lot, the two older girls played on the street with their friends from the neighboring houses (strictly on the pavement and only within the sight of their parents, - "you never know in this day and age..").

Their youngest sister spent a bit of time outside with them (and with her mum of course, she was only young you see) admiring all the big kids and enjoying the attention (the balls and sweets and big bikes that she managed to snatch occasionally).

Their micro-cosmos was a cushioned bubble of joy and comfort of a community who understand and support without the need to ask unless you want to share; the way only Anglo-Saxony humans are capable of co-existing. Until they found out that the rude beast (this character has to be fictional, without gender and any resemblance to humans; you shall soon realize why) from across the apartments felt it was important to tell people who moved to the estate about this family. They are you know, so weird, they have 3 girls, but their youngest is small, small like you know in the fairy tales like an imp. You know like an imp.

We will blame the choice of word on the rude beast's broken English, but what is the excuse for the very un-Anglo-Saxony behavior? The fact that the beast is a rude beast from the blood-stained and prejudice ridden land of Attila? Perhaps.

And how will I carry on with all the booooooooring small-talk and fake smiling,? Or do I even want to, or have to?

I suspect the beast has just read a recent article in Psychology Today and thought that the best way to "understand the underpinnings of protective prejudice" was to empirically test the hypothesis and accept the beastly task. The apparently instinctive behavior is that of protecting self and others from the unusual; the toddler and family in our story, as they may be the bearers of some contagious, deadly disease, or at the very least, weird people, outsiders to be avoided. And let's not forget about the mythical element here...

Having a skeletal dysplasia is a medical condition, and I think people are not going to realize it is, until we don't start talking about it as such. The "noun" culture that labels people by their medical condition is detrimental to the way my child is viewed in the world.

Sure, there will always be the fear, prejudice and ignorance of anything unusual and unknown, including medical conditions and disabilities.

However, right now the rude beast is being fed conflicting information, (despite its best effort to keep up to date with the latest research in socio psychology). The present nomenclature is confusing: it frowns upon some nouns = labels, but happily embraces and uses other ones that are familiar from the fairy tales and the world of circus.

I, for one am putting an end to this world view (I always wanted to say that sentence). And dear reader, you know my liberal view on everyone making their own choices for their own family, and that is my one belief in life, but I am asking you to think about the words that you use to describe yourself or your child. What is their  potential impact? Do they objectify your child, do they show respect, do they encourage labeling, do they provoke empathy or ridicule?