Everybody had already seen Purple Rain but me. I was startin’ to lose my street cred so I asked my dad if I could go and just for asking if I could see an rated R movie…I spent the rest of the night in my room wonderin’ when I was going to learn to duck faster while the cuckoo birds circled my head until my eyes uncrossed. And I ain’t have no jazzy room, either. My parents didn’t believe in trickin’ out no kids room with T.V.s and video games and stuff like that. I had four walls and a clock radio with a missing knob and every encyclopedia known to mankind. So, basically I had to spend a night in the joint cuz in my parents’ house, you weren’t even allowed to ask to do something that kids ain’t have no business doing. Forget doin’ the damn thing, you bett’ not even ASK to do it.
I think kids need a bit of that today. Cuz maybe then this (click here) wouldn’t have happened.
This story is tragic. My heart goes out to the family of this young man, especially his parents. But I gotta ask…what the HELL is a 17-year old boy doing in Florida, 1,000 miles from his parents, during Spring Break? Now before all the nutballs come out and tell me that he could have gotten himself killed under his parents’ supervision, I agree. That’s exactly where my child would have to get himself killed. Because under my direct supervision (or someone that I trust) is the only place his ass is gonna be during Spring Break. And if asks me otherwise, he gonna have a problem on his hands. He’s gonna hafta figure out how to extricate himself from a tangled, Tasmanian devil mess of a little beige mama.
Let me just go ahead and say – nothing good has ever come out of Spring Break. Now, that may be hurtful to all the kids who were conceived during a Spring Break somewhere but it’s true. We’ve all done or heard about Spring Break, we’ve, at least, all seen what goes on there…so, parents, stop foolin’ yourselves, the kids stay drunk, get high, hook up, walk around 1/2 naked – no, let’s be honest, get 7/8 naked thanks to the advent of the thong bikini, bulbous body parts and naughty bits everywhere. Not your little Sarah? Puh-leaze!! If you believe that – then her little ass is probably the little nekkid freaky ringleader. After all, it ain’t called Girls Gone Church, it’s called Girls Gone Wild.
When you’re an adult that’s your choice.
But a kid in high school is not an adult. Just cuz they’re big’uns, don’t mean they’re grown. For some reason, we never figure that out until it’s too late. In my opinion, a 17 year olds are not mature enough to have their own car unsupervised, stay home alone overnight, and to not have to account for where their money comes from or what they spend it on. They’re not old enough to entertain when there are no adults present. As far as I’m concerned, they’re not even old enough to make their own dietary decisions. Red Hot Cheetos and Mountain Dew ain’t no good dinner! They’ve been given more autonomy then they can handle because parents have to work to make ends meet – houses ain’t free – but the reality is, one has only to pick up a newspaper or listen to the news to know – they’re not doing a good job of managing the freedom.
Later this week, this family will bury their son and brother and consider themselves lucky because Natalee Holloway’s mother has yet to get her little girl back. Hopefully, the rest of us will pull the reigns in tighter on our young people. It’s ok to tell them little a-holes, “No” every once in a while. The last thing I need in my life is a 17-year old friend. They can kiss my ass with that friendship shit. I haven’t been tasked with turning them into good friends, I’ve been tasked with turning them into good people. And with these ignant ass kids nowadays…ya can’t do both. The kids that I’M responsible for will be managed until they’re 21. They should feel lucky if I don’t go ahead and arrange a marriage for ’em. I can’t be taking no chances on L’il Magic bringing home a gold-grilled bama in turquoise gators to match his turquoise suit and, oh lawd!, cummerbund or L’il Junior eloping with Platinum, the overly flexible former stripper who, at 30, comes packaged as an instant family flanked by several kids and one, according to their matching tattoos, grandbaby.
(sigh) Help me, Jesus!! Where is my belt?