By Mallory Sherwood, Managing Editor

Face the Facts

I made a new friend this week named Nona. She doesn’t come from a background like mine, and she doesn’t even know where Ohio is.

Nona’s mom died of cancer when she was young, and she loves dogs so much it makes her that she doesn’t have one. She has two older foster sisters, and both are mentally retarded.

She is in her 60s and one of more than 25 older adults in Abilene who regularly attend the Operation Lighthouse Adult Daycare Center. Nona arrives every day by 7:30 a.m. when the center opens and greets with a smile whoever brings her a warm breakfast.

Only four center clients, including Nona, are mentally retarded. Each fills a special place in the hearts of the caretakers, including mine.

The highlight of Nona’s week so far was shopping for bathroom supplies with her foster mom. Nona doesn’t know, but the center will take a field trip to Big Lots!, one of her favorite places, on Friday.

I’ve never seen anyone more excited about buying paper towels than Nona, and I realized I had stepped out of my own backyard into a world I know little about.

Although I am no medical professional, I would guess Nona has mild retardation, meaning she can work and succeed at tasks explained in detail. She has a good attendance record, deep loyalty and pride in her work.

Nona and I hit it off, even after I spilled milk across the table when serving her Cheerios and a waffle for breakfast. She immediately asked my name, went into a monologue describing her evening out to buy bathroom supplies, and then paused to ask if I could help her during daily bingo, the next activity.

My new friend doesn’t seem mentally retarded; in fact you would hardly be able to tell unless you asked her about something she loves: dogs or purses. But, Nona probably has an IQ no higher than 6th grade level, something hard to imagine in a woman old enough to be your grandma.

Everywhere she goes she carries a white purse with a small stuffed-dog keychain, one you would receive at a fast food restaurant in the kid’s meal. Naturally, I asked about her favorite types of dogs, which are Chihuahuas or Scottish Terriers.

Her eyes lit up when she talked about the two Terriers she used to have and remained lit even when I told her about my own black Labrador, Abby. She begged me to bring Abby the next time I came to visit, a task difficult to fulfill because she lives in Ohio.

Soon she moved on to tell me about her favorite purses, which I agreed that I love, too. She questioned everything from the style to color and wanted to see the one I had brought that day. She patiently waited until after lunch when I could retrieve it, and clapped her hands with glee when I handed her my own favorite purse.

Hanging out with Nona was like hanging out with an 11-year-old girl, anxious to gossip about purses, puppies and boys. During Bingo we had our next juicy discussion: finding a boyfriend for Nona.

Most of the clients at the center are women, and the few men who come in don’t stay long or aren’t her age, which doesn’t matter to Nona. In between rounds of bingo she asked me random questions from my favorite color to whether or not I had a sister. I told her about my brother, and her first question was, “Is he single?”

The women around the table laughed, all listening to hear what I would say. I told her “yes,” he was single, “no,” he wasn’t a blond, and he is 18, none of which mattered. She said age 18 isn’t too young, and she likes younger men, too. What a topic for bingo.

Mental retardation develops before a person turns 18 and can be caused by many factors. Among the most common are: genetic conditions, problems during pregnancy or at birth, and health problems while growing up. I don’t know if Nona was born with this condition.

It can’t be considered a disease or a mental illness because no cure exists, according to the American Association on Mental Retardation. People with this condition can live full lives and learn to do many things; it just takes more time and effort. In fact, three of every 100 people in this country are mentally retarded.

I made a new friend this week named Nona. She wants to pet my dog, will willingly trade purses, and has a crush on my 18-year-old brother. Who knows who else I’ll meet the next time I step out of my own backyard.