Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

The Gift Of Memories

High school.  Those two words conjure up as many responses as there are people who read them.

Our high school years are pivotal.  They are when we begin to define ourselves, testing the waters of responsibility and conviction, sometimes sinking, sometimes damn near drowning.  Four years in which we make friendships, break friendships, find "true love" or turn into serial daters - trying people on and discarding them like yesterday's fashions.

We laugh, we learn, we experience embarrassments, triumphs, heartbreaks, disappointments, peer pressure, drama, joy, and pathos.

Oh, the pathos.

At no time in our lives do we so completely invest in our own emotions.  Every high, every low, every look, every perceived slight, flirt, rebuff - we lived and died moment to moment, so convinced that our every breath was the center of the universe.

For some people, graduation could not come quick enough - so ready to be free of the hallway hierarchy and bullyshit.  For others it was a scary, unwanted end to a great ride - meaning they would no longer rule the hallway hierarchy or be the dispensers of bullyshit. 

But all people, regardless of where they ranked in the peer pecking order - cheerleader or jock, band geek or drama queen/king, valedictorian or stoner - managed to take something with them besides the diploma:  Memories.

Memories than make us shudder (oh, the hair...); memories that make us smile (late night rehearsals, football games, first kisses); memories of the friends and teachers who endured the years with us, making them more bearable.

May will mark 30 years since I graduated high school.  THIRTY.  That is such a huge number, yet it seems to have gone by in a blink.  So much has happened, so many life experiences lived.  So many people who live in the vault of my own high school memories, who are pulled forward from time to time by an appearance on Facebook, a "housecleaning" dream where they pop in - certainly due to my brain's odd defragging process, and for me, many who have lived rather close to the surface for the past 8 years as my own daughters have moved through their high school experiences in which we have all had something in common.

Theater.

My four years were anchored by a stage and a morphous, riotous blob of people dedicated to the words on the page, the breathing of life into them.  Theater was my safe haven, full of like minded students whose personalities were far too big to be confined to the hallways and classrooms.  We may not have worn the homecoming crowns or scored the winning touchdowns, but in our environment, we were cool.

Culley, Kendall, and Carson all gravitated to their high school's theater program, becoming a part of their own morphous blob of love, talent, genius, madness, acceptance.

I think that is what I remember the most about my group - the acceptance.  Realizing I was safe.  Safe to explore, spread my wings, take risks, fall on my face, or soar - and I did - ALL OF THOSE THINGS.

Those spectacular people have lived in my memory all these years, afforded real estate in my head and heart, space reserved for those who made an impact, stayed an impact.

My theater director, Carol Wharton, always having a prime spot.

She taught me to be brave, to be big, to be bold.  Not just on the stage, but in my life.  She nurtured, she pushed, she screamed, she coddled.  And she forged, in the fires of her endless emotional furnace, students like me who went into the world stronger, more confident, less worried about what others think of us, and more concerned with what WE think of ourselves.

This morning I checked the mail and my heart smiled.  There was an envelope from Carol.  Totally unexpected, a complete mystery.  I came home and opened not only the envelope but the floodgates on a tidal wave of memories.

Picture after picture of me in performances, at awards nights, just hanging out.  Faces in the pictures pulled the faces from my own memories - Georgie, Carol, Shan, Aaron, Linda P., Stephanie,  on and on.

Spoon River Anthology - I well remember completely losing my voice, missing school, yet still going on to perform (just behind my box was a Tupperware cup filled with whiskey and juice to continually burn the phlegm off my throat so I could do my characters)

LOVED this scene from Harvey - to this day still not sure what I am most proud of:  My believable hysterics or the fact that I managed every night to remove those damned seamed panty hose and put them back on backwards.  In twenty seconds.  In the wings.

My fellow Thespian officers and Carol.

It was a gift.  Not simply the Kodak moments in the envelope, but realizing that I, too, have been granted real estate in someone else's memories.  That I was a place, a time, a person who was allowed to stay in the ether of someone else's dreams.

I cannot think of a higher compliment.  Carol Wharton - THANK YOU and I LOVE YOU - always know that you, too, came and stayed, and you will live in my heart forever.

Hair Brained

Long, short, wavy, thin, thick, fuzzy, permed, corkscrew, pin straight, colored, never cut, or shorn like a sheep.

Our hair.  It is one of our controllable characteristics  - hairacteristics, if you will - that we each use to express our individual personalities to the world.  We mousse it, gel it, spike it, flatiron it, pull it back, let it hang.  It conveys our moods, can often influence our moods.  Bad hair day, anyone?

It is a manifestation of effort; a display of I-didn't-give-a-shit-today; somedays worn like a crown, other days hidden beneath a hat.

But at the end of the day - it is what it is - just hair.  Follicular foliage, as it were.  It's there, or not, depending on what hand you were dealt in the genetic lottery of life.  It grows like a weed, or recedes like the tide.

At least that's what I always thought.  Silly me.

Thank goodness the wonderful folks at Timberlake Christian School in Virginia are here to flatiron me out.

Apparently, my hair is a biblical thing.  Heralding to the world that God made me a female.  That only through a ponytail does the world understand this.  My feminine stock is measured in inches of growth, or store bought weave.  And should I cut it short, the world shall immediately be made uncomfortable and unsure as to what exactly I am.

Boobs be damned.  God is the heavenly version of Vidal Sassoon and He dictates, nay demands, my compliance in mane ministry.

Well, that is what they apparently preach and teach at their school.

This is Sunny Kahle.

Sunny is a beautiful 8 year old little girl.  She is being raised by her grandparents who adopted her long ago.  Rough and tumble, outdoorsy, and active - she is a sweet child, a good student.  

She also likes her hair short. 

No big deal, right?

Imagine her grandparents surprise when they received a letter from the school administration that read, You're probably aware that Timberlake Christian School is a religious, Bible believing institution providing education in a distinctly Christian environment.

Cue ominous monastic vocalizations...

It then went on to explain that students have been "confused" about whether Sunny is a he or a she, and reminded the grandparents that enrollment may be denied or withdrawn based on sexual immorality, practicing a homosexual lifestyle or alternative gender identity.

SHE. IS. EIGHT.

We believe that unless Sunnie as well as her family clearly understand that God has made her female and her dress and behavior need to follow suit with her God-ordained identity, that TCS is not the best place for her future education.

I see.  So it's not the school's stereotyping that is the problem.  It's the grandparents who are allowing their granddaughter the freedom to eschew a ponytail, confuse the mASSES, and risk her salvation that is the concern.

Idiots. 

Not the grandparents.  The school.  The grandparents rock.  They pulled Sunny from this hellhole of gender idiocy and placed her in a public school where her locks may stay short, but her outlook on the world will continue to grow.

I suppose it shouldn't stun me that this child is being subjected to such blatant ignorance.  I have a daughter with short hair.  Carson had locks from a Pantene commercial until three years ago.  Long, thick, gorgeously blond, naturally highlighted - everything I ever wanted, but can not grow out of my own head.

And you know what?  She hated it.  She's an athlete.  She's a tomboy.  She's low maintenance.  She never wore it down, always pulled it back.  So she had it all cut off.  And she's never looked back.

But in giving up tangles, knots, and hours of blow dry time, she quickly realized she had traded her ponytail for slurs on the soccer pitch, sideways looks, and even people addressing her as "Sir."

Somehow her short hair immediately made her a lesbian.  Funny me, I always thought that was something you were born with, not a hairborne disease you pick up from a pair of stylist's shears.

Like Sunny though, who says, "I'm a girl, I know I'm a girl," Carson also knows who she is.

She's a girl.  She's not confused about that.  She just happens to be one who loves One Direction, but hates mascara, loves slide tackling, but hates heels, loves Dance Moms, but hates panty hose, loves her strong, toned athlete's body, but hates showcasing her boobs.  

Does she ever get dolled up?  Sure.  Every now and then when the stars align, the unicorns all fart fairy dust, and the occasion demands, she dons a dress, heels, even a little eye make-up.

Carson is not confused about who she is.  And frankly, after this many years, she actually enjoys making other people a little uncomfortable when they realize they made an incorrect assumption about her gender.  She likes forcing people (at least those with enough introspection) to question the gender stereotypes they carry in their heads.

But she's 17.  And mature beyond those years.  Sunny is just 8 and having to learn that some segments of society are full of shit, stereotypes, preconceived notions, and hand me down "rules" that dictate who a person is, despite WHO A PERSON IS.

As for Timberlake?  Their loss.  But I am just curious - do they truly follow the Bible?  Do they adhere to all the constructs found within, enforcing them with letters home warning of damnation (or expulsion) for:

Bowl cuts.  Leviticus 19:27: "You shall not round off the side-growth of your heads nor harm the edges of your beard."  I guess the Beatles were damned at the start.

Football or bacon.  Leviticus 11:8, which is discussing pigs, reads "You shall not eat of their flesh nor touch their carcasses; they are unclean to you."  But, but, BACON....

Panda fortune cookies or Long Island Medium.  Leviticus 19:31 reads "Do not turn to mediums or spiritists; do not seek them out to be defiled by them. I am the Lord your God."

Polyester (uh, oh - there go the uniforms).  Leviticus 19:19 reads, "You are to keep My statutes. You shall not breed together two kinds of your cattle; you shall not sow your field with two kinds of seed, nor wear a garment upon you of two kinds of material mixed together."

Red Lobster.  Leviticus 11:10 reads, "But whatever is in the seas and in the rivers that does not have fins and scales among all the teeming life of the water, and among all the living creatures that are in the water, they are detestable things to you."  So much for that Lobster-Shrimp platter.

Of course they don't.  Those things are silly, antiquated.  Give up bacon?  Bacon IS a god.

My message to Sunny?  Be YOU.  Rock that short haircut forever or until you decide, Hmmmm, I want to grow it out. 

My message to her grandparents?  THANK YOU.  Thank you for pulling her out of the dark confines of religious strictures and into the light of individuality.  Thank you for seeing directly the beauty that is your granddaughter, not looking at her through the prism of draconian dogma.  Thank you for loving her as she is, not as some temple of intolerance would dictate she be.  Thank you for letting her flourish.

Finally, my message for Timberlake?   As evidenced by your hairbrained notions, your heart is bald and your soul has split ends.  

Blaring Message For Loudmouthed Bigots

I was wandering through the DGMS archives this morning and stumbled upon this piece from 2007.  Seven years may have passed, but the feelings I expressed are still exactly the same.

Bigotry simply must be extinguished.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I cannot stand stupid people.

And one quick look through the headlines on any given day reveals there’s a buffet of human ignorance in this world on which to lavish my disdain.

Some stupidity, while loathsome, makes me laugh. You know, those stories of legs in bar-b-ques, the woman who dresses up roadkill like they are Build-A-Bears, and my personal favorite: the people who get busted for getting their freak on with animals (dead or alive).

But at the other end of the ignorance spectrum lie the people who illicit in me a reaction not unlike milk in someone who is lactose intolerant. Only my intolerance is to bullshit, which gets my mental bowels in an uproar.

Indeed, the quickest way for someone to be the recipient of a DGMS diatribe that flows like verbal diarrhea, is to expose their bigotry, prejudice, and hatred to me.

But doesn’t hating on the haters paint me with the same brush, you ask?

Um, no.

These people don’t deserve consideration. They don’t deserve sympathy, empathy, or apathy. Especially not apathy.  They deserve to be outed for the hateful, ignorant, backwards beings that they are.

For example: This morning I woke to a new comment (which has since been deleted) on the piece about Genarlow Wilson from someone who felt the need to spew their hatred in the night...

Hi I am arab and muslim and I am very very happy to gloat at this latest example of american character. you are a nation of pigs. gluttonous, inhuman cruel cutthroats and terrorists. your men are faggots and your women are whores. both are cock suckers. you are incapable of any human feeling and the worst scum on earth. hahahaha. i'm glad you are self-destructing. F*ck you americans. you should all be sterilized.

Where to begin...

Well, I can start with the fact that anyone who cannot type with capital letters or punctuation need not apply for a position in the realm of my respect.

Moving on, I can say with certainty that my husband is not a faggot, and I have never spread my legs for money. As to the cocksucking accusation? OK, fine – you got me. Guilty as charged, but stay out of my bedroom.

Incapable of any human feeling? Um, wrong on that count. The majority of Americans feel grief, shock, horror, and sympathy every time one of your equally extreme "Arab and Muslim" brethren walks into a crowded market and blows their stupid ass up, taking 50-100 innocent people with them.

And we get to feel that on a regular basis.

Like I said, I deleted the comment from the blog, but the more I thought about it, it needed to be outed, because the ignorance and hatred displayed in it go hand in hand with a couple other stories in the news this morning.

First, yet another cowardly creature has decided to use the cover of darkness to demonstrate their racial bigotry and personal ignorance at Columbia University.

Just last month, a noose was found hanging on the office door of a black professor, a few days later, a caricature of a yarmulke-wearing man and a swastika were found on a university bathroom stall door, and today, a swastika was discovered painted on the door of a Jewish professor.

According to reports, just since September, nooses have been found in a Coast Guard office, a suburban New York police station locker room, a North Carolina high school, a Home Depot in New Jersey and on the campus of the University of Maryland.

In addition, a Brooklyn, New York, high school principal, who is black, received one in the mail recently, along with a letter that read, "White Power Forever." In mid-October, a noose was discovered outside a post office at New York City's "Ground Zero."

Just what the hell is wrong with people?

"White Power Forever"? F*ck you. If white power means worshipping pieces of shit like Timothy McVeigh, then perhaps the noose needs to be placed around your worthless necks. (My apologies to the rope.)

Further angering me this morning is the reemergence in the news (although it’s not like these asshats ever truly disappear, they just move around like cockroaches) of the members of the Westboro Baptist Church of Kansas.

You know them. They are ones who feel they speak for God, and that God hates faggots. Ergo, God is striking down our military personnel in Iraq and Afghanistan in order to get that point across.

(Just what the hell kind of Kool-aid is their Jim Jonesesque minister handing out at services?)

This means they turn up at the funerals of dead servicemen and women and spew their ignorant, backwards, bigoted rhetoric, flinging it like clods of verbal shit. "God Hates Faggots!" and "Your son/daughter is going to Hell!" are some of their greatest hits.

Their signs are just as warmhearted.

"God hates fag enablers." "Thank God for dead soldiers." are just a couple of their pithy placards.

(Small aside.  I suppose, according to that sign, I am a fag enabler.  A damned proud one, at that.  I don't give a rat's ass what a person's sexual persuasion is, and I have said it many, many times - every gay person in my life is a treasure.  Not because they are gay - I don't collect them like Beanie Babies - but because they have open hearts, compassion, laughter, and love in abundance, despite having to put up with societal, backwards, homophobic bullshit.). 

But back to the Westboro wastes...

One family who suffered the loss of a beloved child in Iraq, in the midst of their worst day, had the added misery of this worthless bunch of monsters appearing at their son’s funeral. Their taunts, jeers, protests, and vitriol drowned out what should have been the first precious moments of closure for the family and friends who had gathered to bury the young man.

His parents sued the "church" and the pathetic excuses for human beings who make up its congregation.

Yesterday, a jury awarded the family $2.9 million in compensatory damages, an additional $6 million for invasion of privacy, and $2 million for causing emotional distress.

The church members' reaction? Shitty smiles, shittier words.

"Absolutely, don't you understand this was an act in futility?" said Shirley Phelps-Roper, whose father founded the Westboro Baptist Church. "Oh, it will take about five minutes to get that thing reversed," added her equally unrepentant husband.

Will the judgment stand? Who knows. Best case scenario, it will be tied up in legal limbo for years.

But the money is not the issue. The hate is the issue. The unmitigated gall of people like this who would disrespect another human being in their darkest hour. The ignorance which oozes from their mouths like pus from an infected wound.

And that’s what people like this are, really. Pus-filled, infected, wounded.

They didn’t come into this world seeping hating.

Children are born into this world as blank slates. They know no race, religion, language, culture. They are empty pages.

It is unfortunate how many of them have adults in their lives who choose to write upon them with their own bigotry, ignorance, cowardice, thus perpetuating a vicious circle of stupidity.

I choose to write upon my children with openness, love, acceptance, tolerance, equality.  I want them to be colorblind, to be inquisitive.  I want them to want to learn about others, not hide from them.

Hatred is a learned thing. And the majority of those who actively hate others based on color, religion, sexual orientation, or place on this planet typically have no working knowledge of the people they are targeting.

They haven't ever had a bad experience with them.  They have simply been taught to hate them.

Ask them why and they talk in so many circles you finally get dizzy and fall down. But they can never give the honest answer. They’ll talk about God, about history, about anything but the real reason: They hate because someone taught them to hate because someone taught them to hate because someone taught them to hate, and on and on.

Hatred is fear. Fear of something different than yourself. And hate comes a lot easier to human beings than does tolerance and understanding.

I’m not afraid of white people, black people, Muslims, Catholics, Evangelicals, homosexuals, North Koreans, Iranians, ...

What I am afraid of are small minded, close minded, hate mongering bigots.

And those come in every color of the human rainbow.

Sorry, Not Sorry

When the news broke less than a week ago that Fred Phelps, he of Westboro Baptist infamy, was on his deathbed, the reactions were divided into two camps.

The first, those for whom his death could not come soon enough.  Comments like, "Could not happen to a nicer bag of shit" filled the internet. 

The second camp was filled with those who beckoned us all towards the high road.  A by-way on which we would not wish him ill, or "descend to his level of hate."  Suggestions to picket his funeral with We Forgive You signs were everywhere, as were those who begged all to "give him respect in his final hours and eventual death."

Well, today he is, in fact, dead.

At the age of 84, Phelps has gone on to wherever you believe he has gone on to.  A final accounting with God?  Straight to Hell and its assorted minions?  Nowhere?

Perhaps upon hearing the news that he has actually passed away, you will redouble your efforts to "be the bigger person" and "not stoop to his level" or head to Party City for black decorations for a Fred Is Dead party.

Personally, I fall somewhere in between, but certainly closer to the second camp.  And I make no apologies.  As for stooping to his level?  I couldn't get there even if I had a backhoe and the Army Corps of Engineers on hand to dig with me.  The whole "show him respect" line?  No thanks.  He showed no respect for family after family as they grieved a loved one's loss.  Honestly, I wouldn't my waste time picketing his funeral.

There are those who chant that "every life has value!"  No, I don't agree.  I believe every life begins with the potential for value.  But deeds, not breathing, ultimately prove a life's worth.  Fred has none.  He chose hatred, venom, the persecution of many.  And just like a child rapist or a serial killer, there is no value there.  Just a waste of oxygen.

This is a creature who established one of the most heinous cults of personality, labelling it a church, availing itself of those tax free rights, and set out to make innocent people's worst moments worse.

Like so many who dare to speak for their "god," Phelps decided that God was angry.  That is not a history making stance, mind you, most who trade in this sort of emotional blackmailing almost always lead with God is angry at... fill-in-the-blank.  Angry at homosexuals, angry at abortion, angry at war, angry at peace - who knows?  Just this week, another headcase in the GOP won the party's nomination to challenge the democratic opponent in Chicago-area 9th Congressional District.

Susanne Atanus - I wrote of her a couple months back.  She was staking her campaign on playing prophet, letting all and sundry know that not only does God control the weather - God is angry.  No, wait, sorry, I need to get her quote accurate as it is not nice or fair to misquote someone.

"God is SUPER angry."

SUPER angry about homosexuality, same sex marriage, civil unions, abortion - you know, all those standard GOP boilerplate issues that they have no business legislating.  And they know this.  Just as they know that public opinion is against them and growing more forceful with each passing day.  So what do they do?

They invoke the Big Guy.  Stuffing words aplenty into His mouth, speaking for Him on all manner of social issues, scaring those so easily panty wadded by religious dogma.

Personally, I would think THAT would make Him SUPER angry.

But back to Phelps, who surely single handedly supported the poster board industry.

He led his merry band of Bible banging followers in the belief that God hates whatever Fred decided God hates.  Most certainly "fags."  If one went purely on the signage, God Hates Fags most of all.  And they left no opportunity unplundered - staking out funerals, concerts, you name it.

Under the guise of "church" they did nothing more than cause pain.

Yes, it can be argued that they also helped advance the cause of equal rights for LGBT individuals by constantly keeping their hateful rhetoric in the public's face, but that does not erase the pain, the awful overeach, the offensive intrusion into the grief of so many families.

Fred is dead.  But his legacy is not.  Those left in the Westboro Baptist coven will continue their disgusting verbiage, continue to stuff hate into God's mouth where most of us believe there is only love.  They will continue to promote hate, ill will, pain, and heartache - all the while paying not a cent of taxes, and laughing at the rest of us.

To be clear, do I hate?  Sure.  Every single one of us - even those who claim the utmost piety, hate something from time to time.  Maybe it's a hangnail.  Maybe an unexpected auto repair bill.  Perhaps boldfaced human inequity.  Or, perhaps the individuals responsible for hurting others.  But I am not consumed in my hatred for Fred, Westboro, and those who seek to destroy those born different from them.  Galvanized?  Yes.  Most decidedly galvanized. Fred died today, and I will move forward knowing the air is cleaner because he is not exhaling his brand of sewage into it.  I will move forward knowing there is one less clog in the toilet pipes of humanity.

I said up above that I make no apologies.  Maybe that was incorrect.  It would be more accurate to say that I am glad he is gone, and I am not sorry for feeling that way.

Or in the parlance of today's youth, "Sorry, not sorry."

Rotten Apple? Check The Tree

The headlines have been everywhere.

SPOILED BRAT SUES PARENTS!

PRIVATE SCHOOL PRINCESS POUTS IN COURT!

NEW JERSEY TEEN SUES HER OWN PARENTS!

And oh, how the voices online have been weighing in.  All immediately condemning the teen, mostly just reading a headline, or getting a very cursory overview of the case.

The case is as sad as it is pathetic.

Rachel Canning, 18, of New Jersey, with the help of a lawyer father of a friend, hired an attorney and filed suit against her parents demanding that they continue supporting her and pay for her college/expenses when she graduates.

In Rachel's telling, she was cut off and kicked out by her parents.  She turned to a friend whose parents took her in - the same family who hired the lawyer representing her.  She says her parents informed her that when she turned 18, the money faucet would turn off and that she would be on her own.  That was late October.

In her filing, Rachel claims, “My parents have rationalized their actions by blaming me for not following their rules.  They stopped paying my high school tuition to punish the school and me and have redirected my college fund, indicating their refusal to afford me an education as a punishment.”

She claims her mother called her "fat" and porky" resulting in bulimia. She accuses her father of being "inappropriate" towards her when drunk.  And she claims she was "cruelly dragged" into their marital problems when they separated last year.

From the other side - her parents - they state that their daughter left because she did not like their rules like doing chores, observing her curfew, and their request that she rethink her relationship with a boy she had been dating whom they referred to as a "bad influence."

As for the bulimia, her mother told the court that Rachel began dieting several years ago for prom (2012) and upon returning from a vacation she and her husband went on, found two large garbage bags of vomit in Rachel's room.  Rachel was confronted, taken to the doctor and therapists, and diagnosed as anorexic and bulimic.  Her mother claims to have been her biggest supporter in trying to get her well, but that Rachel rebelled against those attempts and developed hatred towards her.

They state that even the Child Services worker who was called in after the school became concerned about various accusations Rachel was making, referred to their daughter as "spoiled" and given "too much."

Did they stop paying her tuition?  Yes, because in their view she had emancipated herself from them when she left.  As for the college money?  They have not done anything with it.

Point of order:  No underage person can be legally declared emancipated by a court unless they can prove they are fully self supporting and responsible.

So, who is telling the truth?   And who is to blame?

Personally, I think both sides are to blame here.

Rachel, described in every article as an honor student - you know what, STOP, must comment.  Being an honor student does not make one an angel.  Or honestly, automatically the brightest branch on the high school tree.  I know many, MANY "honor students" whose behavior is as dishonorable as it can be, and they squeak by in their classes by cheating fullstop.  So calling her that doesn't buy her any points with me.  Being a cheerleader?  So what?  That doesn't make her bulletproof or better either.  It has not changed through the years.  Some of the biggest bitches wear the shortest skirts and carry pom poms.  Every one?  Of course not, but MANY.

And as for being accepted into many colleges?  Good for her.  Happy that she wants to take the next step in her education.  But trumpeting it the way the media has been seems to imply she should be acquitted of her behavior and that her parents OWE her a full ride.  And that $20k scholarship she has been offered at one school?  That is over the course of four years, and a drop in the bucket at University of Vermont.  Can her parents afford to help her pursue higher education?  By all accounts, yes, and in fact they have a college fund set up for her.  But they do not OWE her a college education.

That seems to be a big theme with Rachel.  What she perceives she is OWED.  For what?  Being pretty?  It certainly doesn't seem to be for perfect behavior.

Rachel has been suspended in the past.  Alcohol seems to be one of her BFFs.  She was suspended for suspicion of alcohol at the homecoming dance, and for truancy (boyfriend related).  Her mother told the court her daughter is also a thief and a chronic liar.

Between August and October 30, 2013, Rachel routinely (every weekend) would attend parties, become intoxicated, and seek approval from my husband and I.

‘On or about October 5, 2012, Rachel committed a theft on my credit card, which card was given to her for the purpose of purchasing presents for my husband’s birthday.’

‘During at incident in April 2011, Rachel stole $100 from my purse, snuck out of the house, at midnight, attended a party….  And returned home by taxi at 3.30am on a weeknight.

As for Rachel's behavior towards her parents?  This voicemail was submitted to the judge by her parents' attorney:

'Hi mom just to let you know you're a real f**king winner aren't you you think you're so cool and you think you caught me throwing up in the bathroom after eating an egg frittatta, yeah sorry that you have problems now and you need to harp on mine because i didn't and i actually took a shit which i really just wanna shit all over your face right now because it looks like that anyway, anyway i fucking hate you and um I've written you off so don't talk to me, don't do anything I'm blocking you from just about everything, have a nice life, bye mom'

OK, so that, if nothing else, pretty much sums up where Rachel lives in terms of attitude.

And yes, I agree with all those online who have gone for her throat - the girl needs a foot broken off in her ass.

BUT.  This is also where I break off from the pack and direct some attention towards the parents of this kid.

A child does not get to be THAT child, the one leaving such a colorful voicemail without a whole lot of leeway her entire life.  A whole lot of privilege.  A whole lot of "things."  A whole lot of reinforcement and a helluva consequence famine.

The parents admit she has been indulged.  That is pretty evident.  But indulging a child, giving them things you never had, does not automatically produce a spoiled brat.

We have three daughters.  Yes, we are in a position financially to afford them things some can't, BUT they have been raised in a home where there have always been rules, expectations, consequences, consistency, and respect.

It is that latter one many homes lack.  The home in which the parents believe that simply by virtue of their age they should be respected.  That because they provide a roof and food and clothing they are worthy of respect.

NO.

Sorry, but it simply doesn't work that way.  And I have three kids who are living proof that if you want to be respected as a parent, you have to respect your child in return.

You don't get respect by hitting them.  You get fear.  NOT respect.  (You want to hit your child, go ahead.  You made them.  Just know that hitting is not a necessary component to raising a respectful, polite, GOOD child.)

You don't get respect by demanding it.  You get a child who fakes it to your face and cannot wait to get the hell away from you.

You don't get respect by caving and looking the other way when they get themselves in trouble.  You get a con artist.  I know so many parents who act helpless in the face of their kid's bad behavior and choices.  Like they cannot do anything to change it.  Too worried about not being liked by their child, or having their child get upset at them.

You do not get respect by constantly moving the bottom for them.  When a parent forever moves the bottom, the child never fears the fall.  If rules have been set, don't change them.  If boundaries are laid out, don't move them.  Make clear what the consequences are and then FOLLOW THROUGH.

You do not get respect by acting like your child is a lesser life form than you.

You get respect by listening, responding.  By actively seeking them out as parts of the family - a family in which their opinions can be expressed (civilly), where what they feel is taken into account.

You get respect by being rational, not losing your shit over every glass of spilled milk.  You get respect by having proportional responses to the situations that come up.

You get respect by being a good example.  Don't bitch at them about their dirty room if your room is a sty.  Who the hell do you think YOU are?

Respect is a two way street. 

I find it hard to see that there is even a bike path in this relationship.

In court, these emails were submitted by the Cannings.  They are between the girls and the father.  Start at the bottom and work up.  She asks if she can come home.  He lays out the ground rules.  She basically tells him to fuck off.  Again, Rachel didn't get that free with her mouth without being allowed repeatedly for years to be that free with her mouth.

Now, is it possible for a child to just be awful?  Of course.  There are cases where a child is simply a bad seed , as it were, despite the best efforts of the parents, but those cases are not the majority.  Not nearly.  Some children struggle, they just do.  But the lion's share of kids like Rachel are enabled.  There is a high school in our district where the parking lot resembles a high end car dealership.  Range Rovers, Beemers, Lexuses when a kid turns 16.  And that IS the expectation of those kids in that school.  That is the environment in which they are raised.  And while not all of them are brats who need an ass kicking and the public "humiliation" of wearing Walmart's finest sweatpants to school for a month, MANY are.  The stories out of that school are stomach turning.  Privilege with no accountability.  None.

Today, the judge ruled against Rachel's request for child support, her tuition, and legal fees.  He pointedly told Rachel she is disrespectful and told both sides that more effort has been used to tear the family apart than fix things.  He also indicated that while there will be a second hearing, Rachel shouldn't hope for a different outcome.  He had words for her parents as well.

‘I hope we all can realize that despite all the ups and downs, despite the somewhat severe trials and tribulations that have been brought in front of the court, that the basic concept that all the money in the world cannot match the greatest gift you can ever receive, the gift of a child.  You should never give up on a child even when they become a young adult.’

I agree with the judge.  A child is a gift.  The greatest gift because they come into our lives as blank slates, limitless potential.  

How we write upon them as they grow determines what kind of person they become.

Rachel did not become this way on her own.  And as soon as the parents accept their part in creating this little monster, the quicker real resolution, lasting change, and positive steps forward can begin.

There is no use placing all the blame on the apple when it is apparent there is tree rot where it grew.