Our House, In the Middle of Our Street
Once again it is time for my weekly psychic reading…hmm, as I look deeply into the ketchup stain on my sleeve, I see multiple, long-distance trips by a heavily-laden vehicle of some sort—milling crowds of little wild soccer-playing children—piles of smelly clothes—a visit to a wondrous land filled low-priced, moderate-quality consumer goods and restrooms in both the front and rear, including one suitable for fathers with girlchildren—a rotund fellow, filling the air with loud oaths as he tries to crank a two-stroke powered weed trimmer which has been sitting outside all winter—Ah, the vision leaves me now. It does sound exciting, though, does it not?

Actually, it is sorta exciting. I like spending time with my kids, even though I sometimes talk about them as if they’re one step removed from the feral cats at the Colosseum in Rome; but really they are some of the best-mannered kids I know. Of course, they are still kids, but it sure is nice when old folks compliment them on their table manners at restaurants. There are still a good many people around who remember a time when it was not unusual for kids to say “ma’am” and “sir” to adults, and even to their parents. They’re getting scarcer all the time, though, replaced by folks who figure their kids need another playmate more than a parent. My kids notice these folks—we can be out somewhere and some smart-mouthed tike will dump a load of verbal filth on his putative parents—

“He shouldn’t say stuff like that, should he Dad?”
“Nope.”
“He wouldn’t say that at our house, would he Dad?”
“What do you think?”
“No sir.”
“Right.”

I don’t know how my kids will turn out. I hope they do well, I hope they make the right choices, I hope they go out and make the world a better place. They may not; but it won’t be because they weren’t taught right from wrong, or to love and respect people, or to tell the truth, or to keep their hands to themselves, or to lift the seat, or to act like they are somebody, or to cherish their freedom, or be thankful to God for the bounty with which they have been blessed.

(For all of the snotty, condescending, pseudo-intellectual, self-loathing types out there--sneer all you want at such simplesme; my kids know how to use a can opener, and they know where the big can of butt-whup is kept. Don’t make them use it on you.)
posted by Terry at 3:19:00 PM