Monday, May 6, 2013

Why we don't write an advice column

The unbelievably condescending letter below was featured in today's Dear Prudie post:
Q. High School Graduation: My son graduates from high school this month. There is a girl in the same school system who has severe cerebral palsy. She has been in the same schools as my son since kindergarten, and was mainstreamed into the classrooms; she even "graduated" along with the other kids in sixth grade. She is also a neighbor. Her parents are delightful, optimistic, friendly, and caring neighbors. But, as graduation approaches, the talk in the store when we meet other moms is always happy talk about college choices. Even this mom happily asks about other kids. I ran into her recently, and had this happy chat, but I felt self-conscious that I didn't know how to ask about her daughter. I know there must be sadness that her daughter does not have the hopeful future that our kids have. I want to be kind and honest when we visit. How should I handle this?
Prudie's response, while on point, did not sufficiently address, in our humble opinion, the insanity (arrogance?) dripping in the letter writer's question.  We have therefore drummed up what we view to be a more appropriate response:
A. High School Graduation:  How wonderful of you to care that the mother of this retarded human being does not have the hopeful future that your son has.  Often times, we are worried about how others may accept our kind gestures and fail to act; therefore, I suggest that you bake a pie, knock on your neighbor's door and casually ask her, "how is Simple Jack doing?"  Should she stab you, spit on you and throw you into an oncoming car, rest assured that this is undoubtedly the stress from raising someone who should have been put down by a seasoned and qualified Veterinarian a long time ago.  And someone clearly from the lower classes.  In addition, should your neighbors set you on fire upon retelling this delightful story, well, please be reminded that Hitler was once misunderstood as well.

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