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« on: Sunday 31 March 24 22:55 BST (UK) »
When I was growing up my parents had a guesthouse. I remember my mother being asked if she would allow a couple to bring their son who was retarded (their description), very few places would accept him. My mother said of course he was welcome, they came every summer for several years until my mother had to give up taking guests when my father became ill.
It was quite obvious by his appearance and the way he walked that the lad had severe problems, he was non verbal, could only grunt and drooled all the time. He had suffered severe brain damage when the midwife dropped him on his head when he was born and was classed as an imbecile. His only interest was picture postcards, he had lots of shoeboxes full of them, they always brought several boxes with them. I used to sit with him for ages while he worked his way through them, showing me each one. He got very excited when we gave him new ones we had saved for him. It was such a simple thing but it made him so happy.
I would often go with them to the beach, I found it very upsetting the way strangers treated him. They would stop and stare and point at him, often making nasty comments. On several occasions I remember people saying he should be ‘put away’.
Thank goodness most, if not all of society is more enlightened today.