Parenting Tips

Let's talk about parenting.

As a twenty-year-old, I'm glad to say that I'm not one. I have every intention of being one, just not for another ten years or so.

So I'm not about to claim to be a parenting expert. But it's not because I don't have one, it's because I really don't think anyone can be an "expert" on parenting. It's just one of those things you do, and you do as well as you can, and if you fucked up, it's your spawn's problem. There's an app for that.

But I have a few bones to fucking pick with parents. I grew up eating dirt, and grass, and whatever managed to find its way into my mouth. I got my fucking vaccinations. If I threw a tantrum, I got in trouble- I was hauled out of a few public places by my parents, I'm not ashamed to say. Overall, I was a fairly well-behaved kid. I learned to cook. I learned to do laundry. I learned that there are about seven billion people on this spinning ball of rock, and I am not that special.

So when I run into these moms pushing around jumbo-jet-sized strollers, I am instantly annoyed. I mean, I could fit in one of these fucking things. They take up an entire sidewalk. And ownership of one of those seems to give these parents the idea that they are the center of the frigging universe. They steer right into you, assuming your going to move because, awwww, it's a wittle baby! Yeah, well, your "baby" can string together whole sentences. Time to learn to walk.

We went to a street fair today, and it was crowded. As in, no room to move anywhere but forward. And this woman jumps in front of us with her baby-limo and five kids orbiting her. She stops in front of us, so I say "Sure is nice to be able to just stop in front of people." She turns around and sneers, "Go around us, then."

You know what, kiddo? Fuck you. I feel sorry for your kids that they're going to be raised to be self-entitled little fucks. It's going to suck for them when they enter they enter the real world and find out they don't matter.

I mean, shit. These people act like they deserve a Nobel Fucking Prize for reproducing. My congratulations, you have achieved one of the most basic of human functions. It's right up there with eating and shitting. Now get out of my way.

And these are also frequently the "breast is best" supporters. Yes, studies have shown it is good for Junior. But there are women out there who cannot physically manage it. Do you really need to flaunt your gushing tits in front of them? Doesn't that seem a tad inappropriate? I mean, lactation is not special, kiddos. It's a qualifier for an enormous group of organisms, not a super power. If you breast-fed your kids, good for you. If you didn't, oh well. It's not the end of the fucking world. Get the fuck over yourself.

And then some of these people seem to be anti-vaccine. Like, how is that even a thing? There is absolutely no evidence that vaccines will do shit to your precious Junior, excepting the rare cases where the kid reacts to the shot. When that happens, it is unfortunate, but it is highly unlikely your precious crotch-spawn will have that happen. Vaccines like MMR are not bad for Junior. You know what is bad for Junior? Measles. Measles outbreaks have gone up substantially in the last twenty years. You know why? Because some ludicrous people seem to think it gives kids autism. You know where autism really starts? The WOMB. It's your fault, bitch.

Furthermore, these "I would never reprimand Junior because I believe in positive reinforcement" cop-outs typically buy into this "Special Snowflake" bullshit. "Junior deserves to get whatever he wants because he's special." You know who else is "special?" Every other one of the seven billion people currently in existence. You're not special. Your kid's not special. Your kid is a child, and if he's screaming his head off because he wants some fucking toy or candy, that is your problem. You chose to have kids, now deal with them. They are not my problem. I have been a babysitter, a nanny, and a camp counselor. I have made plenty of kids my problem. I adored every one of those whiny fucks. And if any of them lost their marbles, they got in trouble. Your kid might be bright. I was a bright kid once, too. And you know what's cool about bright kids? They find ways to amuse themselves. If your kid needs constant attention, he's probably not very bright.

Kids are like parasites- most people have one. Some even have two. When I have a kid, I will love that dumb little fucker to pieces. But I'm not going to kid myself- he/she isn't that special. They came out of a uterus, they eat food, and they shit a lot. They can do whatever they set their stupid little minds to, but they aren't the only kids to have ever existed. If they throw fits, they suffer the consequences. They won't know what a stroller is (baby packs are where it's at). They will eat the food they're given, they will be vaccinated, and they can eat mud to their hearts' content. And hopefully, that little sack of person-ness will turn out to be mostly normal. If it's my kid, chances are limited, but hey. Optimism never hurts. But when I'm in a public place and my kid suddenly stops in front of someone, I'm not about to make it that person's problem. It's not their fucking problem. The little fucker came from my vag, after all. That little problem is mine, and mine only.

Remembrance

Well, I suppose, given what this weekend is, this post is inevitable. Some people are good at talking through emotions. I am not one of those people, but I am good at writing out my emotions.

I was ten years old, and in Mrs. Elkins' fifth grade class. It was a Tuesday morning; I was eating breakfast.

"Michael," my mom called from their downstairs bedroom. "Come down here for a second."

My dad left the kitchen and walked down the stairs. Being an awfully curious ten yer old, I followed. The Today Show was on, just like it was every morning, but the picture was not what I was used to seeing. It wasn't their studio. It wasn't even Rockefeller Plaza. It was of two buildings; smoke poured out of them about two-thirds of the way up.

It was the first time in my ten years that I'd seen reporters lost for words. The buildings weren't anything special to me; I've never been to New York, and someplace called the World Trade Center sounded like a business office. As they explained that two planes had flown into the buildings, the confusion mounted. How could any pilot not notice two enormous buildings in front of him? How did two planes just end up in downtown Manhattan?

As I remember, and I could be wrong, both buildings were standing when I left for school. My friends and I crouched in a basement window that looked into the music room. We huddled together, a group of confused ten- and eleven-year-olds, and watched the towers fall. Even after school started, all we did was watch more coverage of it. The thought that we could be able to do anything else was laughable. Who can think about long division when potentially thousands of innocent people are dying? People who woke up that morning, the same as us, had breakfast, and went to work. People who just wanted to go home and watch television that evening.

I didn't know anyone who died in the World Trade Center attacks. I didn't know anyone who was in New York at the time. My remembrance of the attacks isn't about individual people, and it isn't necessarily about that day; it is about what happened to me, personally, as a result.

First, this was when I permanently gave up on Christianity. I gave up on the notion of God. In my ten-year-old mind, I couldn't understand why a "loving God" would allow three thousand innocent people to die simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I couldn't understand how people could do such heinous things to other people simply because they followed different religions.

Second, I realized America wasn't the greatest country in the world. I was not proud to be an American. I couldn't believe that we would allow such things as the PATRIOT Act and the over-the-top TSA security to exist, when they fly in the face of the ideals upon which this country was founded. I couldn't help but feel like these extremists had accomplished their goal; we had effectively renounced the values that made us the US. It took me several years, and a lot of studying, to get back to a point where I could claim to truly be proud to be an American. To this day, I resent much of what our country does, but I know we have the potential to be better.

Third, I became an activist. I wanted to not only understand things, but be involved in them. I wanted to protest, to give speeches, to prove that I was not about to take any of this quietly. I helped out at the Snake River Alliance because my father was involved with them, but three years later, I joined the ACLU. I gave a speech on the steps of Boise's City Hall. I marched in parades, I handed out pamphlets and worked booths at events. Every time I read about someone being discriminated against, someone being unjustly detained, someone getting hurt in a disaster, I was personally outraged. To this day, I have to nail my feet to the floor to keep from getting on planes and going to places like Haiti, or Somalia. The fringe group who launched on our country ten years ago, while they might have gotten the response they wanted from our government, caused me to want to be a better person. I wanted to help people, to try and make sure that no one would ever be alone when they needed help.

Every time I see that image of the two towers billowing smoke, I think of what it must have felt like, to be on the floors above, knowing you weren't going to be able to get out. Every time I see an image of the Hurricane Katrina aftermath, I think of what it must be like to see your possessions, your house, swept away in a flood of water caused by someone else's mistake. Every time I see images of people starving in a war-torn or corrupt country, I think of how unfair it is that we're dying of being too fat in this country. After 9/11/2001, I started to see the unfairness of the world, and I knew that I was going to spend the rest of my life doing something about it, one way or another. To do anything else just doesn't seem right.