I thought about starting this column with a dictionary definition of “retarded,” but then I figured anyone reading this already knows it. So, let me go on record and be unequivocally clear: I hate the word “retarded.”

 My mom had a steadfast rule when I was growing up: We don’t use the word “hate.” Instead, we suffered through with inadequate words like dislike.  I do not doubt that in heaven with my son Cole, Mom has given her blessing to my use of the word hate, if only in this circumstance.

I hate the word “retarded.” I don’t hate the people who use the word. Not at all. They need some education. They need to understand how hateful and hurtful it is — especially to the families whose loved ones struggle with disabilities. Trust me, no parent wants to hear their precious child spoken of in such a denigrating fashion.

Unfortunately, Cole was called retarded far too many times in his short life, but he was anything but retarded. Yes, he had more developmental delays than you could shake a stick at. He struggled to keep U.S. currency coins differentiated. He could be hard to understand.

Could he work an algebraic equation? No, but neither could his daddy. Could he parse a sentence or write an essay? Not in this life, but he was more intelligent than most.

How brilliant was Cole? He loved the Saints, the Mississippi State Bulldogs, and Brett Favre (he was buried in a signed jersey that Brett gave him).

Furthermore, he sang loudly and proudly at church and presented his cheek to all the pretty girls to kiss. He knew all the words to his two favorite football movies, “Facing the Giants” and “Remember the Titans.” He served our family as the bad-word police. You did not want him to hear you use the word “stupid.” Like his grandmother said, hate was a bad word too.

This past Friday night, I volunteered at Tim Tebow’s Night to Shine — a prom for individuals with special needs. Watching these wonderful people enjoy the evening reminded me of Cole’s strengths. Like them, he knew how to love, tease, and laugh. He could give hugs better than most. If he was your friend, he stood by you through thick and thin. That makes for a pretty wise person these days — especially around those who casually use words like “retarded.”

Why this column? Because some of us have forgotten what moms worldwide have taught: “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

The wisdom of mothers sounds a lot like that of the writer of Proverbs: “Kind words are like honey—sweet to the soul and healthy for the body.” (Proverbs 16:24 NLT)

Kindness to all pays dividends of joy.

Les Ferguson Jr. grew up in Vicksburg and is a 1980 graduate of Warren Central High School. He holds a B.A. in Bible from Magnolia Bible College and an M.A. in New Testament Preaching from Johnson University. He lives and ministers in Oxford, Mississippi and is the author of “Still Wrestling — Faith Renewed through Brokenness.” He can be reached at lfergusonjr@gmail.com.