My mother, pretty much daily, told me I was stupid and lazy. This was more or less good-natured, affectionate abuse. But much of my life since leaving home has been an effort to refute that. She was in her way loving, but her own upbringing was dysfunction junction, and I am by contrast much more physical with my kiddywids. Any behavior she disapproved of -- appearing in public barefoot, swearing, nosepicking -- would move her to remind me: "you are NOT TRASH!" Only much later did I realize she was aware that reading and wearing shoes were still novelties for our mmm, dynasty, pretty recently down from the hills, and she was letting me know that I was teetering, and which way I tumbled was all for me to choose. She taught herself which fork was which, and what was good stuff and junk, and she made sure her children appreciated the difference too. Her passing was hard, and one of the nicest things anybody ever said to me, and a tribute I think Mom would have liked, was when one of my students (a non-traditional, a lady much older than myself)said, by way of comfort, "Anybody can see you had a fine mother." Adam