Got a good response there. I tweeted about a Down's kid in my kids' class. Like a cunt.
Well done all you who gave me a well-deserved kicking.
My cousin Margaret had Down's. I say "had", because she died. People with Trisomy 21 tend not to last as long as wankers like me.
There's a girl with Down's in my local Boots' who is lovely and I would rather be served by her than the other old tossers.
I HATE the word Mong.
But my 11 y/o has a Down's boy in her class. Nothing wrong with that. At that age they can be pretty much "normal", whatever the fuck that is.
This one, William (a pseudonym) scratches his bollocks. So do I. Often. I try not to do it when other people are eating though. Also I try to keep my trousers on.
In addition, "William" has a teaching assistant. he says "not doing it, don't want to do it." Then the teaching assistant fills in the answers for him. To tick a box.
THAT'S what I meant.
Now argue.
I apologise for giving the wrong impression but 140 characters doesn't do it for me.
2 comments:
My mother once was that teaching assistant. Sitting with them so someone, somewhere could tick a box.
Watching them try to learn about Henry the Eighth, when lessons in how to cross the road and avoid being too trusting with strangers would have been more use.
Reminds me of all those 'paintings' that my kid brought back from nursery and that had his name written underneath. You know the sort of thing - colourful cute and cheeky pictures of snowmen and angels and trees. This is the kid who only ever painted in brown. BROWN BROWN and BROWN. Preferably all over the page. Snowmen? Yeah my arse. Some nursery worker was having a great time with those paints, ticking those Early Years tick boxes.
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