Let's see. How to put this.
I am fed up with kids and their constant texting. It doesn't matter what's happening, who's speaking, and I don't think it would matter if someone were dying, when that little thing in their pocket or hand or lying next to them on the church pew buzzes, they're on it. Thumbing away.
They are slaves. Willing slaves, I guess, but slaves anyway. This little plastic box is their master, their all-time bf, their whole life. Heaven forbid they might go somewhere without the "phone." I've seen that happen, and the kid had a meltdown panic session. Some fun.
No need, I suppose, to suggest that the whole phenomenon is RUDE.
There. I think that's direct enough.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
And I Call Myself a Writer
I did not have an unhappy childhood. My parents did not beat me, never even spanked me, not once. For all I know they loved me. They were not alcoholics, never divorced, died loving one another and, if I know anything, still love one another.
My brothers and sisters were brothers and sisters, and if you have any of either you know what that means.
I was never locked in a room for years, kidnapped, assaulted. One student--but, of course, this was well after my childhood--called me terrible names and behaved in a threatening way when I put an F on his paper. Another tore up his F paper, threw it in the trash, and stomped out of my class, never to return. I was forced to watch with the rest of the class. Oh well.
Otherwise, the only times I have been trapped are once when my eleven-year-old boyfriend held my wrists and tried to keep me from getting away so he could kiss me and later several times when my grown daughter has come home for visits and has liked to corner me in the kitchen pantry as a little joke.
No one abused me, not an uncle or family friend--one family friend turned out to be unsavory but not in my presence and I only learned of it much later.
No one told me I was no good or worthless or ugly or without talent. No one even tried to discourage me in anything I tried to do. I have not been the victim of a crime or a victim of anything much except my own foolishness.
I myself am not an alcoholic or addicted to drugs or an abuser or a criminal, and I am not gay. I do have British ancestors.
I have also posted this on Carol's Corner.
My brothers and sisters were brothers and sisters, and if you have any of either you know what that means.
I was never locked in a room for years, kidnapped, assaulted. One student--but, of course, this was well after my childhood--called me terrible names and behaved in a threatening way when I put an F on his paper. Another tore up his F paper, threw it in the trash, and stomped out of my class, never to return. I was forced to watch with the rest of the class. Oh well.
Otherwise, the only times I have been trapped are once when my eleven-year-old boyfriend held my wrists and tried to keep me from getting away so he could kiss me and later several times when my grown daughter has come home for visits and has liked to corner me in the kitchen pantry as a little joke.
No one abused me, not an uncle or family friend--one family friend turned out to be unsavory but not in my presence and I only learned of it much later.
No one told me I was no good or worthless or ugly or without talent. No one even tried to discourage me in anything I tried to do. I have not been the victim of a crime or a victim of anything much except my own foolishness.
I myself am not an alcoholic or addicted to drugs or an abuser or a criminal, and I am not gay. I do have British ancestors.
I have also posted this on Carol's Corner.
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