My mother was dying of lung cancer. She wanted to die at home. This would mean I would have to take care of her. I can't say I was looking forward to it, but I figured it was what I should do.
The two of us had to square off against the hospital social worker, who wanted to put mother in a nursing home. She found out, somehow, that I was dyslexic, and she didn't want an illiterate looking after my mother.
I was holding one of Patrick O'Brian's books when I spoke to her. I still wonder what she thought I was doing with it. I don't think I ever managed to convince her that I could read.
Just so you understand why I think those suck eggs.
I really hate having to convince people that I am not illiterate, insane, or retarded. Jokes like that don't help much.
I had a housemate from St. Johns Newfoundland. He was a computer programmer, something of a workaholic, a maddening neat freak, and a a teetotaller.
Canadians tell jokes about "Newfies" that portray them as stupid, lazy, dirty, and drunk. They tell these jokes, I discovered, because they believe Newfoundlanders are stupid, lazy, dirty, and drunk. I heard remarks like, "Don isn't a Canadian, he's a Newf." from Canadians who should have known better. Now, I don't tell jokes about any group of people except politicians. (They ask for it.)