Wednesday, June 2, 2010

These Damned Kids

I know this argument has been going on for years, but people:
PLEASE beat your kids.

I didn't say abuse. But a little spanking or belt action never killed anybody. And if it did, they probably weren't going to last too long anyway.

"Rude, where is this coming from?" you might ask. Well, I'm watching this show called "World's Strictest Parents" on the CMT channel where they take bad ass kids and put them in homes with strict parents for the week, and as you watch, you can't help but mumble obscenities under your breath about what would've happened to you if you had the nerve of these kids when you were younger for a whole hour.

If these kids got beat early enough, there's no need for this show. For the first time in this blog, I will use a story from my personal experiences to illustrate my point.

When I was younger (about 4 or 5), I loved pop-tarts. Scratch that, I STILL love pop-tarts, and there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, there's something wrong with you if you don't. Anyhow, one time, I was feeling independent enough to help myself to some pop-tarts. I got bold enough to take a whole pack, with TWO whole pop-tarts in it. That's right. Thug life. Well, momma caught me with a couple of pop-tarts in my hands and realized she had given me permission to do no such thing. She told my daddy, and daddy ain't play that. I got my hind parts reddened on the spot. Right away. The messed up part is, they couldn't even wait 10 minutes for him to finish his bowel movement. I got whooped over my father's lap WHILE he was taking a sh*t. I don't even think it hurt that bad. But I'll be damned if I EVER forget that whooping.

That was about 15 years ago. And for 15 years, I've thought twice about ever single bite of every single pop-tart I've ever taken. I'll be 20 years old in a couple of months, and I'm FINALLY beginning to understand that I can eat pop-tarts when I want now. It's still a little to risky for my liking though, so I have a little template saved in my phone asking my mother for permission to eat pop-tarts. Even when I'm away at school.

My point is this: that whooping didn't kill me. Traumatize me? Absolutely. Hell, that may very well be what's wrong with me today, BUT I'm very much a functional human being.

We've ALL seen the bad ass kids in the grocery stores and malls of our cities. We're always SO quick to judge. Don't judge that parent, because you have NO idea what they've been through or what they're going through. Don't interfere. Just trip that kid when you get a chance. Don't make it obvious or anything. Just... ya know? Kinda get your foot just into their path of destruction and apologize like your life depended on it afterwards.

Now before you judge me for this little bit of advice, I did some SERIOUS soul searching before I published this post. I checked the Bible, Koran, AND Torah, and there's ABSOLUTELY nothing in any of those books forbidding you to trip people's kids. Look at it like this: the more children we trip now, the less brats we have running around our streets and prisons.

Here's what I want you to take away from today's post: if the thought of your kids getting tripped in public bothers you, beat your kids. You're welcome.

Until next time folks. Remember to laugh. There's always someone uglier than you.

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