A Rant on the State of the Union…

Ok, my age is getting ready to show in NEON colors… but what’s up with kids today? In particular, young ladies (and I use that term incredibly loosely — pun intended). And as recently as yesterday, I thought that young men were the ones most out of control these days…

Is it because our society encourages makeup before puberty, heels and bras before middle school, and a vocabulary that begs for mouths to be washed out with soap?

Today, my seven-year-old daughter got off the bus and was glowing with news about what a wonderful day she had enjoyed.

Her Poppa and I had secretly ordered two valentines from a school fundraising project and they were both delivered to her today. She asked me to read them and told me they were in her backpack pocket.

I unzipped the pocket while the pack was still on her back and pulled out two Valentines, one from Wayne and one from me. She said there was another one in there, a red one, but the only thing I saw was a sheet of notebook paper with red writing in large, permanent marker. So, I opened it up.

I was NOT prepared for the “note” contained within. It was from two girls on the bus, and was being “transported” by my daughter to my sixteen-year-old son, because my son had missed the bus on his first full day of school in the new school system.

The words contained in that letter, and the implied and blatant offers would only be bleeped out by my content “nanny” on this blog – if I still have that flipped on — so I’ll spare you.

But in the course of about two paragraphs this large kindergarten-styled handwriting offered him certain oral feats, inquired whether or not he had drug habits (two mentioned by name) and called him “sexy” and asked if he was interested in…. well, you get the idea.

Now, having informed my son of this situation, I’m the enemy. I told him that I’ll be taking steps on it, because I will NOT have my 7-year old — who is just now able to read most words that she sees, incidentally — carrying such smut for anyone.

And, furthermore, I don’t want HIM getting these notes, much less have them transported by my daughter.

So now, I’m ruining his life and ensuring that he never fits in.

Is it horrid of me to hope that’s true — especially with girls like THOSE?

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