And it will be YOUR fault.
This weekend I had the distinct honor of sitting next to you at a party while you whined about the “terrible ordeal” your son is being put through by his school. I listened ever so carefully to your arguments and tried my best to pick out anything that remotely resembled logic, common sense, or the genuine concerns of a loving parent. I failed.
I mean, I guess it is “terrible” that your son is “forced” to participate in four hours of physical exercise a week outside of school. Man, four hours. What’s the world coming to when a kid has to go outside and play? I’m sure you’ll find it hard to cram into his busy schedule of playing video games all day, or would if you tried. It certainly won’t take away from his homework time; you told us that he never does it anyway.
But you won’t try, because you are raising your son to be a god-damned social fucking mistake. I rarely comment on how others raise thier children because, frankly, we’re all doing it for the first time some time, and there isn’t an instruction manual. But you’re a fucking moron who should be retroactively sterilized. There are things that I know are right and wrong.
I do know it is wrong to sign your kid’s physical activity worksheet when you know it’s false. Unless you want to count the fact that he gets winded going up more than 5 steps at a time because he is so grossly overweight. A 14 year old boy should not weigh 300 pounds, and you should not shelter him from any and all physical activities because he throws a fit if you don’t
It’s wrong to write a letter to the gym teacher every year getting him out of P.E. due to “health problems” that he DOES NOT HAVE. He is as healthy as an overweight, lazy 14 year old can be. He doesn’t have asthma, heart murmur, or migraines despite what you told his gym teacher and his school. He’s not big boned, he’s fat and slovenly because you stuff him full of junk food and shove him in front of the nearest electronic teat.
It’s wrong to sign his “community service” paperwork as well, knowing that he has done nothing for his community. Your argument that there is “no time” for you to help him is bullshit. You are a housewife, and your only social obligations are in the evening. You do very little housework since you have a maid who come four times a week, microwave or order in dinner, and have a landscaper take care of your garden. You hire MY children to mow your lawn because your son “refuses” to do so.
The class that your little social retard is taking is called Community Service and requires a mere 7 hours of community oriented activities over NINE WEEKS for him to get an A. Simple activities, like painting a fence, picking up litter in a park, or walking a dog for a sick person. This is not “slave labor.” Bring your kid and yourself to my house for an afternoon of yardwork and I’ll show you what slave labor is. And if you do not have less than one hour a week to spend with your child, you’re watching too much TV.
It’s wrong to give your child everything that he wants because you “just can’t deal with his temper” or “he gets so upset.” Your child is this way because you fucking spoiled him. You do little more as a parent than pay him to go away.
It’s wrong to defend your child’s bad manners, which I did comment on, because he interrupted me while in the middle of a sentence.
I am not “rude” for saying in a very polite manner “Please try to not interrupt me, when I’m finished speaking you can talk.” You will notice that when my kids had something to say to the adults at the party they did not appear at my elbow and say “Dad. Dad! DAD! DADDADDADDADDADDADDADDADDAD!” until I acknowledged them. They waited for a lull in the conversation and spoke like young adults. And you DO have to admit that your little fuckhead did that four times before I said something.
I am not “insensitive” for continuing the conversation despite your child standing there throwing a temper tantrum and crying because I corrected him. Oh, sorry, because I was “mean” to him.
Perhaps I am a bit of an “asshole” for finally, after 15 minutes of your child’s engineered misery, telling him to “put a cork in it and go away.” Then again, perhaps I was just a clever conversationalist, since the rest of the people at the party chuckled when I said that, and one even said “Well done!”
If my son had stood in front of a gathering of people and thrown a temper tantrum I would have snatched him out of his skin. You, on the other hand, defended your child, condemned me, and left in a huff with the comment that you “don’t have to take this.”
That’s true, you don’t have to take this. Neither do I. All that is required is for you to own up to your responsibilities, act like an adult, and raise your child instead of expecting the television and computer to do it for you. If you do that, you’ll never have to go through a situation like this again. Until that day, expect me to treat you like the terrible parent you are, and your son like the social monster he is.
In the future, when we are forced to socialize together, expect me to correct your child immediately and often when he is rude. Expect me to defend my actions if you want to take exception to them.
Do NOT expect me to be as nice as I was this time around, to sit there and listen politely to your prattle. The total amount of my “nasty comments” consisted of one, directed toward your child for excessively rude behavior. I did not go through the list above, though I could have. You onther other hand, called me insesistive, mean, rude, an asshole (x4) and pointed out that I don’t belong in “polite company.”
I spoke softly, turned the other cheek, and listened to what you had to say. Don’t expect the same in the future, and don’t be surprised if I hurt your feelings. I will, if possible, reduce you to tears because I despise everything about you. You are raising a monster, you exult in his laziness and defend his stupidity. You teach him to deceive people to get his way, and to cheat. You are a terrible person, a terrible parent, and a fucking dumb ass.
Have a nice, miserable life.
whew I feel so much better.
