Maybe I don't get it because I don't have kids. I read an article today about a teenager who had killed a bunch of people in a mall, and then turned the gun on himself. Mostly the article was about why he did it. His parents fought, physically, emotionally, mentally throughout his whole childhood. He was molested as a child and again as a teenager. His mother abandoned him and his step-mother hit him. WHAT THE FUCK!?!? How did this happen? Forget child protective services, the judges, teachers, friend...how did his parents allow this? Do we still not understand what our role is when we bring a child into the world? You LOVE it and you PROTECT it. You are demonstrating the very things that you are suppossed to be shielding your child from.
You know how Winston and Julia turn on eachother to save themselves in 1984? I can sit here and proclaim without a doubt that I would not be able to turn on my siblings. I practically raised my brothers. They aren't my children, but I would still take a thousand years of torture if it would save them from it.
So how can this be happening? How can a parent allow their child to suffer or die? Abuse kills four children every day, and three of those kids are under the age of four (http://www.childhelpusa.org/resources/learning-center/statistics). It's a disgusting statistic. Anyone who harms a child should be locked away for life. I can't discuss this further, it's enraging.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Spilt Milk
I have a memory that haunts me. After my parents got divorced we were extremely poor. We were only allowed to have milk with our cereal because we couldn't afford enough to drink it with meals. I was thirteen, my brother was eleven. We lived in a second story apartment. By bedroom was a walk in closet. On the return home from grocery shopping, my brother dropped a gallon of milk at the top of the stairs. It spilled everywhere. He started to cry. He knew that he had dropped our only milk for the week. What the fuck were we going to do now!? The entire family was going to go without milk because he was careless and dropped it! My dad said it was okay and we all made jokes about crying over spilt milk. My dad somehow managed to go back to the store and get another gallon of milk. But that didn't stop the crying. To be eleven years old and feel the weight of making your family go hungry. I will never feel more sadness than I did while seeing my brother cry that day. I can't even repeat the incident aloud.
Growing Up
I turned 22 recently. Most of the people from my high school graduation class are graduating college this semester. My roommates all graduate next year. And when they are gone I will still have two years to go. Why is growing up so difficult? How am I suppossed to know what I want to do at the age of sixty? Or even eighty (I'm sure Social Security will have run out by then and my generation will spend its golden years passing out smiley stickers at Walmart). I just need to get one degree to spend the rest of my life slaving away for the man. But that's not good enough for me. No. I'm meant to be something. Right? I mean, if I don't do something really special with my life or have some profound impact on the world..what's the point? And if I do become an English teacher (the path I'm on) will I truely be able to help anyone? Will the low pay and long hours and bratty kids cause me to pull the trigger? Or will I be able to reach out to a few kids, positively impact their lives, make them better people, help them see the good in the world...? I'm so conflicted. If only we could fast forward into the future with the ability to return and alter our decisions so that we never made a mistake. But then again, I've made some shitty choices up to this point, and I don't regret a single one. I guess I'm mostly afraid that I will be just another "keeping up with the Joneses" middle class citizen. Boring, hating life, and wishing to be anything else. Please, dear higher power, save me from my suburban destiny!!
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