Saturday, October 29, 2005
Personal letter to stupid parentsWarning: I'm in a bad mood. I'm sick and tired of a handful of people taking all the joy out of the majority of our children's school experience. I maintain that if a family is that insecure and unable to defend their own beliefs against a good honest question, or withstand any questions about or exposure to the beliefs of others, maybe they'd best take a good long look at those beliefs, because folks, something is wrong with them.
Read at your own risk. And if you want to fight, bring it on.
There is a big difference between "celebrating" something and "having fun with" or simply "experiencing" it. Or maybe. . . LEARNING about something? Perish the thought.
Buy a dictionary, you pompous twits. If your belief system will allow one in your home. . . . there ARE some controversial words in dictionaries, you know. And I'm sure you DO know.
You can always mark them out with a black sharpie. And I'm sure you DO know how to do that. You've had plenty of practice with book censorship.
There is much, much more that I'd really like to say, but my own personal beliefs which far outweigh anyone else's do not allow me to waste my time trying to deal with the likes of you.
I'm too busy feeling sorry for your children, who have to deal with you on a daily basis, in your humorless, cheerless, sterilized-of-all-fun, devoid-of-all-experiences-which-your-pastor's-pizza delivery boy's-grandmother's-neighbor disapproves of, always-winter-and-never-Christmas, house. Also known as the Valentine-free zone. The "all-experiences outside of our frame of immediate knowledge" -free zone. The shamrock-free zone. The sparkler-free zone. The childhood's fantasy-free zone. The charm-free zone. The turkey-free zone. The tradition-free zone.
I was going to work "twilight zone" in there somewhere but frankly, such households are not classy enough to be associated with that reference.
Oh, and I take back the "turkey-free" zone comment. I bet you know why, too.
What a poor life for a little child, in a house cleansed of fantasy, play-acting, dress-up, dreams, fairies, anticipation, and traditions.
Poor, poor little children.
I suppose poor parents, too, but THEY'VE got a choice, while their children do not.
Not till they are old enough to move out, and start a nicer household of their own.
(Not judgemental much, am I. . . . .)
Yeah, well, bite me.
Very sincerely indeed,
When I try to remember my own elementary school years, the clearest memories are of red and pink construction paper valentine hearts, hand-tracing turkeys, a tree covered with little pieces of glitter-covered artwork (some of them MINE), shamrocks hanging from the ceiling, drawing names for a fifty-cent gift exchange, learning about Hannukah (which my family did not celebrate, but which I was fascinated to learn about; it was my first glimpse into other people's culture, and MY parents were smart enough to appreciate that.) and sitting out in the hallway day after day tutoring kids who probably STILL can't spell 'cat.'
Some of those memories are better than others. Guess which.
Honestly, I think some people never grow out of the obsession to always get their own way in everything. Too bad so many of them have children.
Posted by Mamacita (The REAL one) @ 2:04 PM | |