The Wisdom of My Father

When I was twelve or thirteen, I was reading the letter column in one of my comic books (yes, they actually had them) and there was letter in it from none other than the stuffiest of stuffy Brits, Lord Hume (pronounced “home,” the idiots can’t even speak their own language) the UK Foreign Minister at the time, saying how bad comic books were and inviting anyone to debate with his son on the matter.

I was seriously considering taking him up on it but my father said it was not a good idea. First, I did not have the education yet to do it. I would not have been a match for my interlocutor. But second, and far more important, there was no reason to. Why would an American justify anything to a foreigner? Their opinions were worth nothing more than the squeaking of mice. It did not matter what this pompous British ass thought about anything, being nothing more than an official of a vassal state which existed only to follow the orders of their American masters.

Then he said words of great wisdom. “It does not matter what they think of us. It only matters what we think of them.”

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