For too long, a certain word has plagued our society, a word that causes pain and hurt whenever it is spoken or heard.

It is not unlike the “N-word” and the derogatory “F-word” aimed at homosexuals, and it is time that we as a nation, as a kind and compassionate people, come together to stop this hateful word, too.

The word I speak of is the word “retard” and all of its varietals and offshoots.

That word, like so many other taboo words, carries with it connotations and inferences that serve no purpose other than to demean or belittle other people.

There is nothing positive about that word; no good comes from that word.

Whether or not you choose to believe it, that word hurts people.

I know because I’ve seen the look that enters the eyes of a family member of people with special needs when that word is used around them.

It’s an odd mixture of anger and sadness that can seldom be replicated in other circumstances.

These friends and family members often speak out when someone uses the “R-word” in front of them, making sure to let the offender know the power and hate that goes along with using that word.

These people, these warriors, are on the front line of this battle, being advocates and lobbyists on behalf of a group of people that so many times are not able to speak for themselves.

More so than some other groups who have battles with hate speech, the special needs community largely depends on the voices of members from outside the group to send out their message.

I freely admit to using this word in my not-so-distant past. I used it cavalierly, as most young men do, to provide what I thought was an amusing frame-of-reference for how stupid or silly I or others were acting.

I didn’t think twice about using the “R-word” or any of its offshoots because everyone used it. We didn’t know the power that word had. It was just slang, something we said because we learned it from our older siblings.

Careful the things you say; children will listen.

It wasn’t until I used the word in front of my high school theatre teacher, Revel Gholston, and his wife, Kate, that I learned what that word meant to someone with a loved one in the special needs community.

Kate’s sister Alyne is autistic, and the minute the “R-word” escaped my lips, both Revel and Kate immediately gave me a dressing-down that I will never forget.

I’m glad they did that. After that, it became incredibly apparent that the “R-word” would no longer be a part of my lexicon.

Today, it isn’t.

I avoid that word like the plague. Or, at least I try to, as much as I can.

It still has a hold in the vocabulary of some of my friends, and I’m honestly surprised that none of them noticed that I visibly flinch whenever they used the word around me.

But, I no longer tolerate its usage. If people choose to use that word around me, they should be prepared for a verbal deluge and a 30-minute rant about why you should never use that word ever again.

The lifespan of the “R-word” is drawing to close.

Our friends in the special needs community deserve to be treated better than this.

That word does nothing but tear down and destroy, and we don’t need that.

We’re better than that word. We must be.

Cliff McCollum is managing editor of Gulf Coast Media. He can be reached at cliff@gulfcoastmedia.com.