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What Are You Doing To Your Children?

I try to be an observer; a recorder. My aim is to detach, and report what I see as I view it, forming opinions and offering conclusions for debate, hoping some will stop occasionally and think, “perhaps he’s got a point.”

Sometimes it fails to work that way. Just occasionally I get angry. So angry I could choke the life out of people so sanctimonious, so morally absurd, that I feel the world would truly be better off without them.

No, I’m not discussing the George Bush’s or Dick Cheney’s of this nation. One expects hypocrisy, and disdain of common humanity, from politicians. Choking to death is probably too good for them anyway.

The subject in question was highlighted this week when the board of the Mascoutah Middle School in southern Illinois, who have banned “public displays of affection” by students, ordered schoolgirl Megan Coulter to serve two detention sessions after saying goodbye for the weekend to two friends, by giving each of them a hug.

According to the school:

““Displays of affection should not occur on the school campus at any time. It is in poor taste, reflects poor judgment, and brings discredit to the school and to the persons involved.”

America, when you sink to this level of depravation, you are not only sick, you are terminally ill.

This is where your sanctimonious Christianity has led you. Physical affection has become a sin; an undesirable. It’s fine to play violent video games, watch fellow humans tortured on shows like “24”, but don’t dare to show the love of friendship or you risk being ostracized.

I think it was Jesus of Nazareth who said, “Suffer little children to come unto me.”

In America today, he would be arrested for pedophilia.

For three years I have driven forty grade school kids to school on a big yellow bus. My kids are not the athletic-tutored, good-Christian-family orientated, swots of middle class America. Those kids don’t ride the school bus. Mommy drives them to school in the fancy, latest model, Toyota Landcruiser with individual DVD screens in the back so her “little darlings” can watch their favorite program on the ride to school.

My kids don’t have parents like that. In fact, many of them don’t have parents at all, or if they have, they’re elsewhere doing anything but taking responsibility for their offspring, who are likely living with grandparents, other ‘relatives’, or a ‘babysitter’.

Half the kids on my bus get little physical affection, some only suffer abuse, a few just have that look of hopeless resignation you’ll occasionally see on the faces of children from the less affluent regions of Africa.

While training to drive a school bus we were told, “Don’t ever touch a child. Not EVER.” Most of my fellow trainees immediately responded with nods of understanding. It was dangerous even to pat a child’s head, or comfort any distress.

I’m sorry, America, but I don’t subscribe to your narrow-minded, immature, and misplaced ideas that affection is perverted. I love my kids; all forty of them. They may be the most unruly, snotty-nosed, often dirty and ill-kempt bunch of Fagan’s outlaws in the country, but they’re kids who need love and affection. If they want to give their bus driver a hug when they board the bus, they’re hugged in return. For some it may be the only hug they’ll get all day.

What are you trying to do to your kids, America?

Somehow I think the Christ that you worship so falsely would turn his back and walk away from your hypocrisy.

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The 51st State Of The Union?

The US media is either jubilant over the slowdown in violence around Baghdad, or just ignoring the occupation altogether. Really, there’s not a lot to be optimistic about. Last month the Iraqi death toll fell by half, from 2,400 to around 1,200. Would New Yorkers be out celebrating on the streets if they had been losing 2,400 citizens a month and it had suddenly dropped to only 1,200?

The BBC website has been running a series of extracts from Iraqi blogs. It admits most of the English speaking bloggers have now left the country, though managed to find three still writing from inside Iraq, and one, Riverbend, now in Syria.

“Aunt Najma”, a nineteen year old girl from Mosul, ends her post:

“We’re really strangers in our country… oh well, excuse me, I don’t think “our” should be used anymore. I’m not sure whose country it is, but it’s not mine for sure.”

Perhaps, after all, the Americans are winning.

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