Some days are harder than others.
This morning I dropped my son off at school. It should have
been like any other day. My head-space, however, was muffled. All the activity
taking place around us seemed to crawl by; like an underwater carousel. If I
listened attentively I could faintly make out the sinister plucking of a music
box’s song. I was on autopilot. That’s always reassuring – does it comfort you
to know that I may share the same school parking lot with your child? Blindly wielding
a multi-thousand lb. vehicle through a narrow access passage where children and
other moms in athletic wear saunter while chatting over their morning lattes
and flat whites? Incredibly distracted and mildly hateful – my daydream of monster
trucking through the parking lot is cut short.
I noticed a pattern. That pattern shook me from my happy
place. ALL the cars in that parking lot were either minivans, SUVs, or pickup
trucks. The colors were all either garnet, slate, or white. There was no deviation.
Suddenly I felt like a replicant. Was I in Gattaca? Are all my choices
predetermined or set by class? This is some fucking bullshit right here! I snapped
from my fog and looked around. Every bitch looked the same. Hair tied in a floppy
mess on the top of her head, large framed sunglasses, athletic pants (or yoga
pants for the rest of you – I just even hate saying it) and some coffee or tea
carrying vessel. Holy fuck! I think all of them laughed in unison; tossing their
heads back at the same time. I’m going to die today. That’s what’s happening
here.
Children varied drastically. I noticed one of the boys seemed
unruly - running wild. He was hitting his mother while she attempted to hold
his hand and keep him from climbing on a brick retaining wall. She continued to
walk and talk with her girlfriend; paying no attention to him, or at least
pretending not to. Sorry, fuck that shit! If my kid was slapping me, (which he
never did because he fucking knows better) I would calmly interrupt the conversation
with my BFF so that I could address my demon seed. I’d firmly grab him by his
shitty little shoulders and remind him that he’s liable to hurt himself if he
keeps acting a fool. We address bad behavior incrementally. First the warning,
then the action, and finally we give the child up for adoption because who
needs that kind of bullshit?
I don’t give a fuck what anyone says about disciplinary
action; my mom only ever hit me once, I earned that shit though. I don’t agree
with beating your kids, but if your child is an unruly brat, a firm hand is
sometimes required. You need to be the judge of that. Hopefully you’re not a
dimwitted asshole with rage tendencies yourself. We’ve let children get away with
too much in the name of allowing them to “express themselves” or be “authentic”
and “individual.” Of course they’re authentic and individual! They’ll eat spaghetti
out of their rain boots that they’ve worn in the middle of summer if you let
them. So…
Don’t let little people walk all over you. Make the rules, stand
by them, make them accountable. Those little assholes will lead us. Please, don’t
allow them to become (or remain) sniveling little pussies who believe they’re
entitled to everything under the goddamn sun. Obviously, I’m speaking of children
and not midgets, although you shouldn’t let midgets walk all over you either.
It’s just good practice to hold people accountable to and for their actions.
Wow, this started with the cars in the parking lot. Now I
hate uniformity in moms and shitty little kids. Awesome! More on rage and hate
later. For now, I need to focus this hostility at people I work with. I’m going
out of town for a week, so I only have a few precious hours to make certain
they know I barely tolerate them.
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