Irony. You're doing it wrong.

It's funny because it's true.

Earlier today I came across this picture in my news feed captioned simply as "cool".  Feel free to facepalm at any time. I didn't bother to engage the person who shared it over her skewed perception, not because it's not my place (because let's be honest, that doesn't matter to me), but because this person is an adult. She's also a parent. This means that she's raising children. Marinate in that for a moment. Someone who is too thick to realize that this image is a mockery of all her "if you don't support our troops" propaganda is the primary influence on another human being's thought process. Even if I were able to make her understand exactly what the intent of this image is, she would simply misunderstand why someone would make such a statement.

Fucking Fight!

Teach your children well.

I am not a parent. Parenthood is not something I've ever felt I was cut out for, nor was it something I believed would be rewarding for me, or any unfortunate child who might find me to be his or her own parent. But I have thoughts. I have thoughts and opinions on various types of parenting. I am who I am.

Here's a thought: Before it's too late, be sure to teach your kids that not "everyone else is doing it". I can't tell you how many times that phrase was tossed around when I was a kid, by other kids. But like kids will do, in a time that they're trying to find their place in the world and find out who they are in that place, kids bluff. They say more than they understand. They act over their heads and they pretend that they're much more sophisticated than they really are.

If you don't mind, leave...

Vaya


Who are you to tell our girls
To leave home
Unmarried, to not baby
Our men, to not feed our families,
To have ideas and thoughts
Of not having children, of being
Individuals and finding out
Who they are?
Because leaving is not for you.
Leaving,
Is for runaways and dads

Who are you to dream
Of leaving, when there is family
And they need you
To wash their socks
And scrub their dirty minds
Clean of the scent of you,
Your chubby child’s legs,
The sweetness
They will pluck from you
Don't you know?

And if you leave,
You might tell, you might talk
Like they talk but tell nothing
And no one, but the women
Where their place is
And what kind of pain they have caused them
What kind of happiness
They have cost them.
It is more than they can afford

You're no runaway
It's too dangerous,
Someone might hurt you.
Did we not teach you
That you don't know your name?
You don't have one
Unless it's given to you.
Like permission, to speak
This is not allowed

And we have heard enough
We are older, we are wiser
And accepted our role
Fulfilled the dreams of our fathers
Protected their honour and sacrificed
Our truths. We did that for you
But you, take that tone
Where is your shame
That we nurtured so well,
Our gift to pass down?
Maybe it's better, if you go.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

I Started a Joke

"Shut up" I told her plainly.
     "Shut down!" She replied.
"Sto-o-o-p!" I cried.
     "Go-o-o." she mocked.
"Dog" I said
     "Cat" she called in return.
"I hate you." I grumbled.   To which she responded,  with a smile,  "I love you-u-u-u.".   And here we fell about laughing.