Friday, March 11, 2005
spring break! what is i-i-it
Spring Break officially begins in 7 hours. I can almost taste the beer. I am very frustrated and feel beat down. Moments ago I caught a string of expletives flowing from my lips.
"Did I just say that out loud?"
Yes. Yes I did. Oh well, what the fuck.
It's not the kids. It's never the kids. Kid's I understand. They have diagnosed physical and cognitive disabilities. They have an excuse. It's the parents. They have no excuse. A misguided and unrealistic (or dare I say delusional) but loving parent with the best of intentions can cause just as much harm to a child as one who is intentionally neglectful or abusive.
But no court or judge will or even should intervene. Rightfully so. Because parents have the right to raise their children as they see fit. Even if it means screwing them up.
So I smile and nod and watch the clock tick down the hours as I go back to a simpler time . . .
. . . Many years ago, in a little bar in Matamoros filled primarily with underage American kids getting way to drunk than is safe in a border town, some cheesy Mexican cover band banged out a bastardized version of Faith No More's "Epic", screaming "Spring Break! What is i-i-it? Spring Break!".
On a much happier note:
Today is officially the one year anniversary of the day we were finally able to rescue The Boy and bring him home as our child. If you are interested, my dear reader, (and really now, how could you not be?) you can reminisce with me here.
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"Did I just say that out loud?"
Yes. Yes I did. Oh well, what the fuck.
It's not the kids. It's never the kids. Kid's I understand. They have diagnosed physical and cognitive disabilities. They have an excuse. It's the parents. They have no excuse. A misguided and unrealistic (or dare I say delusional) but loving parent with the best of intentions can cause just as much harm to a child as one who is intentionally neglectful or abusive.
But no court or judge will or even should intervene. Rightfully so. Because parents have the right to raise their children as they see fit. Even if it means screwing them up.
So I smile and nod and watch the clock tick down the hours as I go back to a simpler time . . .
. . . Many years ago, in a little bar in Matamoros filled primarily with underage American kids getting way to drunk than is safe in a border town, some cheesy Mexican cover band banged out a bastardized version of Faith No More's "Epic", screaming "Spring Break! What is i-i-it? Spring Break!".
On a much happier note:
Today is officially the one year anniversary of the day we were finally able to rescue The Boy and bring him home as our child. If you are interested, my dear reader, (and really now, how could you not be?) you can reminisce with me here.
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