Wednesday 31st October 1990   After dinner  19.20 

“Could I be a doctor, Dad?”
“Declan, I’ve explained this before. I really don’t think that you are intelligent enough.”
“He is not even clever enough to be a nurse!” I laughed.
“Shut up, Dennis! You don’t even want to be a doctor and you come and work in the surgery every Thursday. How stupid is that?”

“Being a doctor is not all about being clever.” Mum said. “You need to have a really good memory. There are hundreds of things to remember: thousands, in fact.”
“Have I got a good memory, Mum?”
“Yes, I think you have, Declan. You need to be a good listener too. I think that that’s one of the most important things.”
Declan and I both looked at Dad. He didn’t say anything.

“You are already showing the signs of being a good listener, Declan. Gran said to me the other day that she thought you were a good, little listener for your age.”
Declan smiled.
“He’s only a good listener because he’s got nothing to say!” I said.

Could I be a doctor?
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