Where Have all of the ADULTS Gone?
I love, love, love my kids and am so very proud of them, and grateful for their health, manners and intelligence. I am far from perfect, but guess what? Parenting was meant to be a job that if you did right, you would work your way out of.
You know, there comes a time when the mama bird must push the fledgling baby bird out of the nest or it will never fly. That, my friends, is the whole point of parenting.
Newsflash: both theoretically and actuarially, you will die before your kids. Prepare them. What happens if mama bird just keeps barfing away into baby bird’s mouth by feeding him idiotic “Uncrustables” (frozen P.B. & J.’s) that are shockingly “crust-less” so poor junior doesn’t have to suffer through the bourgeois indignity of gnawing through bread crust. Or maybe she could feed him “Lunchables” so the poor baby doesn’t have to toil through assembling a proper lunch. Call me a “meany-pants” but I made my kids start making their own lunch in the second grade. It’s called CONSEQUENCES. Make a cra**y lunch, or don’t make one; go hungry. Lesson over.
Not only are there a myriad of juvenile-sounding enticements for the little tyrants, there are flippin’ GUMMY VITAMINS FOR ADULTS! Can a Lawrence Welk “Pez” that dispenses Coumadin or Saw Palmetto be far behind? Seriously? Maybe they’ll start printing a “Smurfs” or “Transformers” pattern on Depends. Everything has to have some cutesy sounding name at the grocery store. Cases in point: “Go-gurt”,”Squeezers”, “Kabobbles”, “Danimals”, and “Fire n’ the Hole”. The last product in the list I saw just this past week at H.E.B. in the ointment section (think about it). There is actually even a “Broccoli Wokly” pre-cut broccoli. I defecate you not. I personally loathe the word “veggies”. Don’t strain yourself with ONE more syllable; take a load off and buy some pre-cut “veggies”. Maybe they’ll even be cut into “fun shapes”.
One of my friends, who I taught junior college with, actually had a parent come complain to her about her kid’s grade. That’s not a “helicopter mom”, that’s an up to the small intestines mom. Here’s a memo to the U.S. government-unless your kid is in vet school (like mine) still, your kid should not be on your insurance until they are freakin’ 26 years old.
I taught public school for four long years. Apparently it is meany-pants, racist, homophobic and sexist to ever FAIL a kid who actually deserves to fail. Also, cursive is not tested, so why teach it? How is this next generation of little heathens going to be able to sign a check or rent a couch (ewww-) from RentACenter? What is everybody gonna have to start writing an “X” to sign their name like some hillbilly moonshiner from the Appalachians selling off the family homestead?
Call me crazy, but wasn’t it KIDS that used to read comic books? Now fully grown adults are “chomping at the bit” to go see the latest Superman movie. Is it just me or has anyone noticed some of these movies are just dark. Literally. They are practically black-and-white- devoid of color until the action picks up, but by then I am asleep. We have devolved into a nation of perpetual pre-pubescents. Fun, fun, fun! Play, play, play! There are adults out there that can tell you when the next (fill-in-the-blank) movie will come out, but cannot tell you who our Attorney General is, (you don’t wanna know now, trust me).
Soda used to come in 6 oz. bottles, and was a special treat. Now it comes in a “vat” that one could bathe an infant in and is literally an “entitlement”, “Heloooo EBT card”. What was once the “regular” size fries at MickeyD’s is now the children’s portion. Eating out for dinner used to be a special occasion, reserved for special events such as anniversaries, birthdays or say a rehearsal dinner. “Now it’s lets go kids, mommy’s got winter-skin-itch”. This might ruffle some feathers, but since I’m on the subject of McDonald’s, could someone please explain to me, how exactly are those “Pandora” type beads (for life’s special moments) different than expensive Happy Meal toys? Collect all 10, 20 ….
Saturday morning was our “rot-your-brain-on-T.V” time. OK, Ok, Three Stooges before school and Batman and maybe Gilligan’s Island afterwards. Now it’s practically a 24/7 endeavor. We watched Land of the Lost, Johnny Quest, and Fat Albert and the Gang. Recently there was a big media deal when someone (a meany-pants racist no doubt) declared that Santa was “white”. One of my awesome black friends tweeted that no one made a big deal about Fat Albert being black, “he just was”.
Missing items from our childhood include cigarette vending machines, candy cigarettes, pay phones, and “Tuna Twist” which was not quite as “fresh as a garden” that it touted itself to be. What the heck happened to the SURNAMES of our youth by the way? You know MRS. DAVENPORT or MRS. HAZELTON. Now they are Ms. Tina and Ms. Lindsay. Geez, I would hate for little “Jayden, Ava or Olivia” to struggle through four whole syllables. Besides, aren’t we all “buddies” on a first-name basis? Geez, I still called my boss who was but three years older than me “Sir”. I probably reminded him of Marcy on Peanuts, but that’s just how I was raised. I would be pretty peeved to go to say, 12 years of University only to be called “Dr. Mike”. You are pretty much a sicko if your goal is to appear “cool” and “hip” to your kids or any kids. It will be a “fail” anyway. You will just look pathetic. The Brits call it “mutton dressed as lamb” when oldsters try to be hipsters or shop in the junior department well into menopause.
Maybe this is because I lived right behind a baseball and soccer field, in North Dallas, but if I hear one more baseball-cap-wearing-wanna-be-hipster-dad refer to his kid as “buddy” in public, I’m gonna’ puke! YOUR KID IS NOT YOUR “buddy”! Or how about those parents who wear their parenthood like a badge, like the greatest accomplishment of their life is um, BREEDING. You’ll know them by their sporting around town taking junior to soccer practice in a suppository –shaped minivan or 3,000 pounds of SUV (for a 37 pound kid) bedecked in all of their kid’s activities in the form of vinyl. Do you really think the poor schlub behind you on I-35 gives a rat’s arse that Megan, Mallory or Jason play select soccer? Nah, he just now knows to hit YOUR house up if he gets a “jonesing” for a kid to molest.
Wives, if you live vicariously through your children, NOT focusing on your husband who is NOT supposed to be a temporary job, you will become a lonely empty-nester and multiple cat owner whose highlight of the day will be delivery of the latest soap-opera digest, and not even the Cialis guy will pull up to your cozily lit cabin that was but a four-wheel drive away. Think the “Mom Jeans” fake commercial slogan from S.N.L. “Cause you’re not a woman anymore, you’re a MOM”.