posted on November 13, 2012 07:00
This world is loaded with assholes; nobody knows that more than me. I’m an asshole of rather large proportions, but I’m also a grown man who chooses his asshole-edness within interaction with other grown men and women, many of whom are also assholes. They can choose to not read what I write, not talk to me or punch me in the goddamned face. But the biggest assholes, bar NONE, walking Mr. T’s green earth are children.
These little bastards can be the meanest little fuckers around, only made worse by their apparent disregard for what their behavior does to those around them. Some little, horribly-raised shithead gets it in their mind to badger and bully somebody and unknowingly affects their life for years to come. And this all starts at home, no doubt about it. A bully child does not just develop on his/her own; they are “created” by a parent with an axe to grind for a myriad of possible reasons, including likely being a victim of bullying themselves.
When encountering these half-bred little future convicts as an adult, your options are limited. We obviously can’t go around bitch-smacking 10-year olds or marching up to the elementary school to put the fear of Chuck Norris in them, interrupting class and forcing public self-urination in the presence of their peers, though the thought has definitely crossed my mind.
We can shove that “ignore them”, “kill them with kindness” and “politely ask them why they’re saying those things to you” (my fucking favorite) shit up our kid’s ass all day long, but those are hardly realistic. We’ve all been to school and, provided you were lucky enough to be the recipient of the displaced ire of some accidental offspring of a wife-beating miscreant and his whore of a chain-smoking, “Springer”-watching bride, you’ve likely experienced the pain and the ridiculousness of using these “coping tactics” in response.
Yes, before you ask, I have a bit of a sore spot for this. There’s one way and one way only to deal with a bully – and that is with physical violence, people. Yep, I said it. Chastise me and throw all that politically correct, 2012-bullshit at me and see what sticks. When you’re done, pull your head out of your ass and admit that I’m right. I know because I dealt with it. Sure, Mom, Dad and the goddamned therapist will tell you to warn them repeatedly before telling the teacher, making it clear that “you don’t want to”, but now you’re trading one problem with your child for another, and flagging them with the stigma of “tattle tale”.
Elementary school and junior high are particularly EVIL levels in a child’s development. You beautiful and physically blessed ones can have your pancake memories and blind to reality views of how great it was for you with your parasols and name brand everything, skipping through the hallways like the kings and queens in an afternoon special, but that wasn’t the reality for most of us. Not only are those the most physically awkward years of our young lives and all the wrenches our bodies are throwing at us but, Vin Diesel forbid, you’re hitched with the unfortunate baggage of acne, freckles, an overbite, lisp, extra pounds, red hair or a slew of other things the “chosen ones” deem tease-worthy, your daily grind can become hell on earth.
I’ve taught my daughter to throw a punch and she’s actually quite good at it. That being said, she hasn’t yet experienced the pure joy of inflicting that skill on the much-deserving nose of some moronic little asshole that seems to find it funny to call her fat and make her cry. She, so far, lacks the confidence and knowledge of the freeing power that this action provides, but trust that I’m working on this.
It breaks my heart to watch her go through this and it will soon break the face of an unsuspecting father, given the likelihood that this behavior continues. I hate to disrupt his little world of sending Junior to school, jacking off to “Rocky” movies and calling in sick to his shit-ass job AGAIN day, but I believe in what I like to call “trickle down discipline”.
One, my daughter is a sweetheart and just doesn’t have it in her yet to kick this fucker in the balls his father doesn’t possess, and two, schools still fail miserably in an effective means to police this behavior. We’re all too wrapped up in kindness and “what’s right” to drive to the offending imp’s parent’s shit-shack, knock on the door and address the fucking problem. You teach your child some goddamned manners or I’ll keep showing up and smacking the shit out of your toothless face. You don’t like being smacked? Fix your offspring. I’m already finding it hard to believe that he was the sperm who actually made it and I’m doing you a favor by possibly derailing a predetermined path to prison by dealing with this now. This…is “trickle down discipline”.
As you can likely ascertain by the tone and aggression of this column, I had some rough years growing up. I was bullied for “not having a Dad”, buck teeth, freckles, being small and being smart. Sure, lots of you have trouble believing I was smart and likely have equal trouble believing I was not always the physically pristine and beautiful specimen I’ve now grown to be, but both are true.
I took emotional and physical beatings for years and slowly grew confident, larger and, of course, better looking. And then I punched somebody in the goddamned face. It is the cure, folks. Quit sugarcoating life for your kids and buying into what we’re told is right. Put them on the punching bag and teach them how to stand up for themselves, a lesson that will prove worthy in all walks of life.
And, when your beautiful child doesn’t quite have it in her just yet, or has a tormentor of the opposite sex who’s physically menacing, while mentally menial, go punch a Dad in the face. Okay, breathe – thanks for listening.
“Trickle down discipline”, you heard it here first…KMFP-out!
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