For My Village...
I laugh my ass off at the stories Heather writes on her site; but only read her site, I do not eat at her house -- so it's none of my business what she does with her dishes. Why bother writing to someone to say something hostile about something that really doesn't matter?
That's why I need to get this off my chest.
I've tried a time or two to tell myself "I don't live there, so I shouldn't worry about it," but it's not working.
This whole HoMeSkOoL thing worries me. Scares. Me. Shitless.
I don't live there, but I work here and that's a concern for me; as part of this family, I'm concerned. They're the only little My-Last-Name's there's ever gonna be, and I worry that they're just not as safe as they could be -- Mental health, physical safety, HoMeSkOoL EdJoOkAyShUn... I'm worried.
There was a time (probably about five minutes worth) when I wondered about all hell breakin' loose with some of 'em finding the blog, but now I don't think I care as much, I'm gonna say what's on my mind.
You can't teach a kid everything they'll ever need to know -- you have to teach 'em how to think so they'll be able to figure things out when they run onto something they weren't specifically taught the answer to.
If a twelve-year-old looks at a label on a box and can't read the word "FRAGILE," there's a reading problem that needs to be addressed.
If you're worried about what's on Cable TV and don't want Cable in your home, you really need to think about whose houses your kids go to and whether or not there's anyone there to supervise the TV watching.
Same goes only more-so for the internet. If you think there's some bad stuff on Cable, just wait 'til you see the crazy shit out here on the internet. If you're supervising the kids 'net time at home, that's great -- just please consider that when they go to some little friend's house, there may not be anybody there to watch 'em surf. Seriously, "JibJab" isn't something that an eight year old and a twelve year old get anything out of, they don't understand it, and they're certainly not "learning" anything about politics from it. They both came in here wanting me to go to that site so they could show me something "really funny," and I only found it *reallly irritating,* and the first time I hear one of 'em call the other one a "Liberal Pussy" (or any other lovely phrase they've heard there), I'm gonna kick their parents in the shins.
Speaking of going to a little friend's house, not all "Church Kids" are perfect little angels. Remember the Preacher's Kids we all went to highschool with? Yeah, you remember 'em, they were the wildest ones. I'm not sayin' I know everything about parenting, but I've seen enough to tell ya that if you push religion on 'em too much, they'll just count down 'til they can get away from it and then it's party time.
When you're deciding who to let your kids be friends with, please consider that just because "they go to church" doesn't mean everything is okay -- if your kid tells you he wants a Zippo lighter or big ol' knife and "it's okay, 'cause ____ has one, and his dad goes to church..." then you need to take a little closer look at the "church" situation. If your twelve-year-old comes home from Wednesday night services telling stories about going to Sonic with some highschool kids, you need to take a closer look at the "church" situation. I don't know the "magic answer" for leading kids to God, but I'm glad My Mom got me there -- and I do know that most "organized religion" is run by humans, who are by nature not perfect even though a lot of 'em like to make you think they are.
"Churches" are full of all kinds of people; and all kinds of people are everywhere. Please look at them individually when making your decisions. Just because someone "goes to church" doesn't mean they're "perfect;" and just because someone flings her bra at Johnny Paycheck doesn't mean she's "evil." There are perfectly evil people who show up for church every Sunday; and there's a little forgiveness for those bra-flingers too.
Whups, I kinda went nuts there for a minute, didn't I? Oh well, if it "takes a village," then it's my job as part of this village to say my piece.
What got me on such a tangent was that My Mom called me a bitch because I couldn't resist the urge to comment on the fact that there was a feckin' Razor Scooter (hello, Google!) in the middle of the floor. After several attempts at convincing the older one that it's just not good to leave a damn skateboard right in the middle of the path of traffic where people have to walk (or run to get to a ringing phone, because it's a business); I'd just had enough. I don't have the best health insurance in the world, I don't really need a fall on a concrete floor. My parents aren't getting any younger; niether of them needs a fall on a concrete floor either.
But when somebody's laid up with some broken bones, hey, it ain't my problem, 'cause last time I tried to say something about it, I was told to "Quit being a bitch."