Great crowds came to Jesus, bringing with them the boring and uncool*, the blind, the maimed, the mute, and many others. They put them at his feet, and he cured them (Matthew 15:30).

Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight; the disappointing and inadequate have become persuasive and interesting*; those with a skin disease are cleansed; the deaf hear; the dead are raised; the poor have good news brought to them. (Luke 7:22).

A century ago, “retard” and “retarded” were medical terms to describe people with intellectual disabilities.

Until the 1960s, “moron,” “idiot,” “cretin,” and “imbecile” were genuine, non-offensive terms used to refer to people with intellectual disabilities and low intelligence.

In time “retard” became a term often used for a foolish person, and “retarded” referred to something that was considered stupid. In recent decades, “retard” and “retarded” have become widely recognized as ableist slurs.

The growing awareness caused many of us to re-think our language, leading to a groundswell that brought changes like the 2010 Rosa’s Law, which updated all federal laws to use “intellectual disability” in place of “mental retardation. But just when it seemed to be going away, the R-word has seen an anti-DEI resurgence, especially among online communities promoting hate and on platforms that reward controversial content.

As the R-word has faded in some circles, I’ve noticed an increase in the use of “lame.” What originally meant physically disabled, crippled, or impaired in movement has become a slang term to mean uncool, boring, weak, or inadequate.

To say “that’s lame” dismisses an idea, event, or situation as boring, disappointing, or unexciting. “A lame excuse” describes a reason or explanation as weak, unconvincing, or poorly constructed. Calling a person “lame” labels them as uncool, awkward, or a loser.

If the anti-woke movement needed a theme song, it might co-opt Carly Simon’s signature song from a half-century ago by changing the words to, “You’re so lame / You probably think this song is about you.”

I find the contemporary usage of “lame” to be lazy and hurtful. Since birth, I have lived with a bone condition affecting my mobility. I started using a cane in fifth grade and have undergone numerous orthopedic surgeries to support my mobility. Now 69, walking with two canes is not uncommon. How would you feel if an outdated word for your disability became synonymous with a long list of negative things?

Over the past several years, I have joined others in the disability rights movement in asking people to reconsider their pejorative use of “lame.” I don’t enjoy doing this, and I don’t always call people out. When I do, it’s often met with a puzzled, startled look. When I’m asked why, I gently offer a basic explanation and add a personal dimension about my own condition, noting that I am “lame,” just not in the way they’re using the word.

How people respond to me varies widely. Some dismiss it with a smirk, and some want to debate. Others say, “Well, that’s not what I meant” and apologize. One friend I corrected later went the extra mile by saying to me in a group of people that he’ll never again use lame in that way—because of me. 

The range of personal responses to my request goes something like Jesus’s parable of the sower (or four types of soil) in Matthew 13: 

• “That’s a stretch,” and there’s no willingness to change; 

• “Hmmm, interesting,” and it’s quickly forgotten;

• “Sorry, I never thought of it that way,” and I don’t hear them use the word any longer, at least in my company;

• “Wow, I had no idea. Thank you for saying something,” with a vow to call out others who use the word as a slur.

Recently I’ve tried an approach that I assumed would be a conversation killer. When greeted with a casual, “Hi, how are you?” I’ll respond by saying, “Lame.” 

Sometimes that’s met with an awkward pause, or “Oh? I’m sorry. What happened?” Another caught on immediately and wryly smiled. One person responded, “No, you’re not!” and then added, “You are not boring.”

My sample size is not statistically significant, but far from a conversation killer, this approach usually leads to a brief explanation of what I’m up to, and occasionally it results in an extended conversation.

Recently in this space, Nancy Knol reflected on times when she said something and later wished she hadn’t. She also explored the opposite, “…the times when I should have spoken up. Someone needed encouragement, and I was too self-absorbed to realize it until later. Someone needed an advocate, but I was too threatened to be the one to step up and speak.”

I would be honored if readers of RJ would join me, at least by not using the word “lame” pejoratively. If you want to do more than that, a search for “ableist language” generates a wealth of articles and resources, including this one that describes types of ableist language and what to say instead. 

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*References to “lame” in these familiar verses have been replaced with the meaning associated with the contemporary ableist slur. Personally, I find the Bible’s use of lame—and other terms describing disabled people—to be outdated and cringe worthy, even though it’s describing people whose mobility is impaired in some way.

Header photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
Bar photo by Elevate on Unsplash
Hand with cane photo by Aysegul Aytören on Unsplash