As I sat at a long stop light, I overheard two young ladies talking. Both were gorgeous young mothers. I couldn’t help but hear them bragging to each other about how they beat their kids. Apparently to them, this was funny. Suddenly, to me… they stopped being so gorgeous. I don’t beat children. I didn’t say that I don’t discipline children. I said that I don’t beat them. There is a difference. There is a line that is crossed. You know what it is.
A child should respect you, not be afraid to the point that they “wet their pants when I call them” as the mothers so happily described their power over their kids. That’s something a movie villain says, and it sure isn’t something mothers should say…while laughing. I know, I know, I don’t have kids so I should shut up. Nah, I won’t. I may not be a parent, but I am a human being.
As the light changed and they went on their way, silently I wished that I could say something to them. I would ask “What would you feel like if a 25ft 1500 pound person beat you? What if that person was your only source of food and shelter? What if your brain was still forming and your world view and sense of self was being based on the treatment of this large being…who claimed to love you?”
If that scenario came to be, the treatment described would be classified as kidnapping and torture. Is that who you are? Is it still funny now? Alas, that conversation never happened. I hope that those kids are stronger than their mothers. The two people across that lane of traffic were pretty weak.
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