School holidays are over. What does that mean to me, a
barren old spinster? It means I flipping-well have to get up earlier every
morning to allow for the traffic created by all those pathetic parents out
there who have some misconceived idea their precious darlings cannot walk to
school. They wrap them up in cotton wool, belt them into the seat and drive
them three blocks away. Seriously, is it any wonder most of the kids you
encounter these days walk around looking like clueless drones – everything is
done for them!
And what’s with all this positive reinforcement crap they
start with the minute the kids show any sign of comprehension. How to lull your
kid into a false sense of self-worth! What happens when they encounter the real
world - like when they audition for Australian Idol and get laughed off the
airwaves when they discover their xylophone playing is not genius at all but
freaking annoying and monotonous? Who’s a good parent then? And who’s a good
parent when the disillusioned prodigy’s dream is shattered and he takes out a
gun and mows down the entire judging panel and room full of the rest of the
untalented wannabes?
Parents, break it to them now, tell them they’re just a
mediocre little fish in the big vast ocean of ruthlessness and spare us all the
pain of the inevitable dysfunction you’re bestowing upon them.
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