Don't You Dare Spare the Rod

One thing that irks me are bad kids. Maybe I won’t understand until I’m a mother because I know I don’t now. I know kids act out at times but they’re also very smart. They learn at a young age right and wrong. I’ve see Look Who’s Talking. Now I’m not saying babies talk to one another in a sense. Rather I am suggesting that their clarity and understanding of thing surpasses what we give them credit for. That’s why I don’t do baby talk with them. No goo goo ga ga over here. You know exactly what I am saying and probably think I look crazy leaning over you all in your face making funny noises.

Some would be led to believe that I can’t stand kids. That’s not the case. I just have a special bond with children. In a sense I am not that nurturing person. I am more of the bully older sister that you love but can’t stand. I express my love to the kids I’m closest to by picking on them and that type of stuff. But they know that I love them and know that if they ask me for anything within reason and in my ability then I will do it. I can be hard on them but their parents trust me. I have kids whose parents won’t let them go somewhere if I don’t go with them, or give me keys to their house to name a few. I especially have a heart for teenagers. They understand my off humor and we naturally click. That’s probably why I did so well as a counselor at the boy’s home I worked at.

One of the kids I have known for years sent me an email. I have watched him grow from a puny little adolescent to a respectable young man. Over the years my role was that of a big sister. I picked on him a lot and offered my opinion or advice when he asked. I was tough at times, but he needed it. I didn’t think it really affected him until I got that email. Now I won’t share it but I was in tears. He was basically thanking me for helping to shape him into the man he had become and for never giving up on him and I thought that was really cool. It let me know that the way God made me and how I deal with people is something from God and it is of value in their lives.
So I must have been still pondering this whole email when I walked into someone else’s apartment by mistake today. I got on the elevator and pressed 5. Since no one else was in the elevator with me I figured it would stop on five. So I’m totally not paying attention and the elevator opens. I get off and see my apartment door is cracked and walk in. Not until I am halfway down the hallway of the apartment do I realize I don’t live here. So how do we rectify this? Clearly at the end of the hall I see a group of Africans with their backs turned to me. So I slowly start stepping backwards until I am out of the apartment and frantically press the elevator button. How embarrassing. How did I get pass the door and realize there was no wreath or that the walls were a different color? This could’ve gone really bad. How do you explain this? “Sorry I thought this was my apartment.” Yeah and have a bunch of people chasing after me with sticks and pans. Awkward.

That’s why I say I’m a smart blonde. Now do I really think blondes are dumb? No I don’t. It’s a stereotype. Our society is built on them and rather than getting into this deep philosophical debate about it I just rather joke about them. I just really don’t care that much. Yes I like fried chicken even though I don’t eat it much and have only made it once. I love watermelon. Stereotypes that are true about me. But I also don’t care about being in water because my hair will nap up. I swim pretty decently. I do think OJ did it and so on and so forth. Anyway I feel I am knowledgeable about many things but I do the dumbest stuff and say the dumbest stuff. It’s what makes me me and I don’t care.