suffer the children
I once sat in a bar in North Carolina and listened to a single mother talk about her son. She spoke of how she loved him to death and there was little he didn't get from her. And then there were the suitors, who bought him just about everything else. From the new Playstation to the Fubu gear, he probably dressed fresher and lived better than she did. And although it was part of a work interview, I felt a sadness grip me. It's the same kind of despair that grips me when I see a really pretty 12 year old girl dressed entirely inappropriately on the subway or around the city. I'm never having kids.* It really is unbelievably thoughtless of people to have children. Do you not see the world you live in? Do you not watch the news? Do you think your influence on another mind is so strong that they'll turn out in any way alright?
I'm hard on parents, even mine. To some extent, I've always resented being born. I'm hard charging aobut living and making the most of life. Most days though, it just seems like too much work. I've never objected to the idea of death. I'd probably be the kind of guy to tell a mugger exactly where he can put his grubby bullets. Maybe a vain glorious way to go, but at least I wouldn't have to go to work the next day. Or face the disappointment of yet another sandwich for lunch or any one of the millions of indignities that make up life.
The single mother in North Carolina was a fascinating one. She came for our session with a friend, her best friend. Together, they frequently dumped their kids on a neighbour and took impromptu vacations to exotic locations around the US. Sometimes they even took the kids. The last trip was to Disney in Orlando. I remember the best friend declaring herself a lesbian, whether part time or full time. There was no doubt there was something between the two women. Oh, they seemed a fun pair. Cute too. One black, one Latino. The black one had the kid I think.** There are no kids whose fates worry me as much as African American males. If you live in this country, you probably have reason to be worried about that kid too. After all, in a few years when he's a bit older and a lot omre rebellious, she'll wonder why it is she can't control him. And her job at Starbucks probably won't pay for the gear he's gonna want then. A little older, the suitors might also be calling less frequently. Then how is little precious going to feed that hunger? Sounds like the opening bars of every other hip hop album.
*However, I might consider adopting. That way, when the kid is all fucked up and wants to know why, I can just go, "don't look at me, that's the nature part causing your problems. I did ok with the nurturing."
**Upon further reflection, the Latina lady might have had the kid and the black one was the raging lesbian. However I've already written this one way and I have no intention of disturbing the poetry of my post with frivolous editing. Make the adjustments in your head.
I'm hard on parents, even mine. To some extent, I've always resented being born. I'm hard charging aobut living and making the most of life. Most days though, it just seems like too much work. I've never objected to the idea of death. I'd probably be the kind of guy to tell a mugger exactly where he can put his grubby bullets. Maybe a vain glorious way to go, but at least I wouldn't have to go to work the next day. Or face the disappointment of yet another sandwich for lunch or any one of the millions of indignities that make up life.
The single mother in North Carolina was a fascinating one. She came for our session with a friend, her best friend. Together, they frequently dumped their kids on a neighbour and took impromptu vacations to exotic locations around the US. Sometimes they even took the kids. The last trip was to Disney in Orlando. I remember the best friend declaring herself a lesbian, whether part time or full time. There was no doubt there was something between the two women. Oh, they seemed a fun pair. Cute too. One black, one Latino. The black one had the kid I think.** There are no kids whose fates worry me as much as African American males. If you live in this country, you probably have reason to be worried about that kid too. After all, in a few years when he's a bit older and a lot omre rebellious, she'll wonder why it is she can't control him. And her job at Starbucks probably won't pay for the gear he's gonna want then. A little older, the suitors might also be calling less frequently. Then how is little precious going to feed that hunger? Sounds like the opening bars of every other hip hop album.
*However, I might consider adopting. That way, when the kid is all fucked up and wants to know why, I can just go, "don't look at me, that's the nature part causing your problems. I did ok with the nurturing."
**Upon further reflection, the Latina lady might have had the kid and the black one was the raging lesbian. However I've already written this one way and I have no intention of disturbing the poetry of my post with frivolous editing. Make the adjustments in your head.
posted by Flint at 9:42 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home