Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

God Save The Teen

I had seen it several times.

Perusing the Guide on my TV, the title showed up at various times on various premium channels.

But each time, it was near bedtime and I knew it would get me hot under the collar.

I know me.

And purposefully making my blood boil when I already suffer occasional premenopausal night sweats just did not seem like a good idea.

So each time, I surfed past.

Until yesterday when a writer friend of mine emailed to ask if I had watched it yet.  He had, and he knew it was something I would write about. 

So I did a search on the Guide.  Found it.  Queued it up to record this morning.  I just finished watching it, and yes, I am fairly, how shall we say?, Vesuvian.

Kidnapped For Christ.

A documentary by Kate Logan, it evolved into so much more than what she - an earnest young Christian university girl at the time - envisioned when she first heard of Escuela Caribe, and went to film it.  It, in her understanding at the time, was a wonderful, devoted Christian reform school.

Kate's background was, as I said, earnest.  She believed in doing good, being good, loving the Lord, serving Him.  She did mission trips whenever possible, outreach, helping others.  When she heard of EC in the Dominican Republic, she was already down there doing mission work.  As a film student, she asked for permission to film the school - believing they were doing the work of the Lord in helping teens who needed saving.

Saving from what?

Drugs, alcohol, misbehavior.  Oh, and being gay.  Yeah, that was a big one.  Can't be gay.  Noooooo way.

She began her 7 weeks of filming in 2006 and it was not long before she began to question the "behavior modification" practiced by the "school."  Students she interviewed were panic attack victims, rape victims, typical teens who were doing typical teen acting out.  Yet they were there, incarcerated in a completely unregulated system where punishments were frequent, mental and physical abuse rife.

One of her early interviews was with David, then 17 (now 25), who had come out as gay to his parents.  David was a promising AP/IB student in his high school.  Theater was his passion and he hoped to pursue it in college.  He was loved by friends and neighbors and teachers.  He was not a troublemaker.  His crime was being gay.

In return for his honesty, he found himself ripped from his home in the dead of night by burly strangers, literally dragged through airports by a belt tied around his waist, and taken out of the country to be "modified."

Again, good Christian mom and dad cannot have a gay son.  In fact, his mother told him, "I could never love a gay son."

Let that sink in.

"I could never love a gay son."

If there is a God, I hope His first words to her at the Pearly Gates will be, "I could never love a mother who cannot love a gay son.  GET OUT."

David's plight was not unlike that of the untold numbers of students who had come before him, were there with him, or who would arrive after he left.  They were all deemed unacceptable on some level by their Christ loving parents who forked over upwards of $72,000 per year to have their teen kidnapped and hidden from the world while they were modified.

Modification took place by beatings, a completely arbitrary point system, denial of interaction, running till a student would puke blood, washing rocks outside, and of course, the Bible.  Lots and lots of the Bible.

Let's go back to that big number for a moment.  $72,000.  That's an awful lot of money.  Well, as it turns out, the teen behavior modification industry is estimated to rake in $2 BILLION a year.

BILLION with a B.

Funny, bullshit starts with a B, too.

Though these type of programs have grown like cancer throughout the states, and into small island nations, there is no regulation.  None.  No recourse, no oversight, no protections for the teens who are stripped of their rights and mentally/physically beaten into submission.

Click this link to see how many there are:  http://batchgeo.com/map/65aaf63de2389616a2ccb87a2598ecbd

Watching the documentary, I found myself imagining what I would do in those circumstances.  One word kept coming to mind.

LIE.

I would LIE.  And that's exactly what survivors of Escuela Caribe state they did.  They said, did, acted whatever, however they needed to finally convince their captors that they were "modified" so they could leave.

For most that took over a year, in some cases almost two.  But, do the math.  The longer the stay, the longer they can milk the stupid parents who sent their child away.

David managed to smuggle a letter to his best friend out with Kate.  Like everyone else in his life, she had no idea what had truly become of him.  She was shocked and enlisted the help of her parents, friends, and teachers to try to gain David's release as he would be turning 18.

Two fathers went to the Dominican Republic, yet were unable to even see David when they went to the school.  The US consulate was not particularly helpful either.  That is disturbing.  Here was a US citizen, 18 years old, being held against his will, and no one would help him.

Legal work was done in the US.  David eventually made his way back to Colorado, his parents controlling his life again.  Based on things they told him, he was afraid to even speak with the people who had tried to help him, were at one time his best friends.

Fast forward 5 years.  Kate, once an evangelical Christian who now identifies as agnostic, had come away from her experiences questioning everything she thought she knew and believed in.  In 2012, she started a Kickstarter to try to get her film made.  It debuted at the Slamdance Film Festival in January 2014, and is now in rotation on Showtime.

As a result of all she learned, Kate now assists Survivors of Institutional Abuse (SIA) in their efforts to help those who have been through the trauma schools like Escuela Caribe and others inflict, and to push legislation to regulate these facilities.

Not surprisingly, institutions like these are funded, supported, and championed by the likes of Focus On The Family, and many far right wing Republican efforts.

Deirdre Sugiuchi, also featured in the film (sent away because her wealthy parents, fundamentalist Christians, did not like her behavior - minimal teen stuff), now works to shed light on these heinous facilities and their supporters,  “If you follow the money, you’ll see that the Republicans are so, so in bed with these people,” she said. The Romney family contributes heavily to the World Wide Association of Specialty Programs (WWASP), an umbrella organization for evangelical reform schools like Escuela Caribe — which was briefly closed down, then reopened under the name Crosswinds — and their Mormon equivalents. (- Rawstory 12/2013)

It is all more than troubling.  It is unforgiveable.  It is religious brainwashing at its very worst.  Not only the brainwashing attempted on the teens, but the brainwashing that gets parents to do something like this to their child in the first place.

A teenager who suffers from an extreme panic disorder does not need God thrust down her throat or whipped up on her ass in some bogus religious prison.  A teen who was raped as a child and is suffering emotionally does not need beaten down by a Bible.  And a teenager who is gay does not need modified by Christ.

That any parent pays to have this abuse inflicted on their child?  Well, they should never have been parents to begin with.  They do not deserve the privilege of another human being trusting them.

What needs modified is this notion that God - your god, his god, her god - trumps all, cures all.

That is the biggest load of snake oil to ever be sold, and it continues to sell well because it absolves a person of any accountability for their actions and behavior.

A gay person is a person.  Their gayness is not a disease that needs prayed away.  It cannot be prayed away.  It just is.  And if you believe that God is love and God created everyone, everything?  Then woe betide.  Your efforts to demonize His creations?  Asshole, party of 1, your table in hell is ready.

Panic disorders are real.  And no amount of Bibling will cure a person who suffers from them. 

Kidnapped For Christ.  It sickens.  And what it amounts to is actually Hiding Behind God.

Hiding behind God because you are total shit when it comes to parenting.  Hiding behind God because you have zero understanding of unconditional love.  Hiding behind God because you are willfully ignorant and would rather be led by someone charismatic at a pulpit than think for yourself.

Are there teens who go completely off the rails and need intervention?  YES.  Drugs.  Depression.  Anxiety.  Crime.  But there are REAL facilities with REAL programs; doctors and therapists armed with knowledge, experience, science, and proven therapies.  Not Bibles, paddles, and power drunk dullards whose answer for everything is "God."

I've said it before and I'll say it again, religion is fine if it provides a sense of comfort, community.  But when rational thought, common sense, and personal decision making are abdicated to it?  No, it's not fine.  It's dangerous.

And people suffer.

Like David.

Who, incidentally, is still gay.

The Nest Is Empty

This silence is deafening.  I did not know quiet could be so disconcerting.

The problem with silence like this is that I can hear myself think.  And I cannot turn off my thoughts.

I am back at my house.  Note, I do not say "home."  All the pieces that make my house a home - people, laughter, the white noise of a shared day-to-day existence - are gone.  My nest, as the saying goes, is empty.  The moment I have dreaded for so long is here. 

Carson has moved onto the UT Dallas campus, her dorm room set up to her liking, and is busy going from NCAA compliance meetings, to screenings, to uniform pickup.

And my heart is breaking.

Not so much because I am sad, but because when a heart swells with so much pride, it has to crack at some point.  It's safe to say mine is shattered right now.  I am overwhelmed at having had a front row seat to watch someone chase and catch a dream.

Aaaaand here they come.  The tears I held back while helping her move in; the tears that I refused to let spoil our goodbye; the tears that have sat in the back of my throat during the 3 1/2 hour drive home.  A lump in my throat so big I thought I surely must have swallowed her soccer ball.

That's ok.  I can type through tears, and just as I did for your sisters, I now do for you, Carson...

I miss you.  Already.  So much.  I can "feel" that you are not here in the house.  I know when I leave my study you won't be out in the living room drawing.  I won't hear Dance Moms on the TV, or Legend of Zelda upstairs, or Spamalot from your computer.

It is a silence I will have to get used to.  And I promise I will do my best.  But your life force has left with you and all I hear is silence.

I cannot begin to express how proud I am of you.  There are not enough words, adequate words.  Sometimes emotions are like that - they are simply too big to be captured by mere letters strung together.  This is one of those times.  You have worked so hard, sacrificed so much, allowed your heart to be broken repeatedly - yet you never gave up.  Please trust our 30 year age difference when I say, most people give up.  They just do.  And when someone doesn't, when they refuse to be bested by circumstance, people's behavior, and daunting challenges - other people notice.

You are brave, Carson.  It's what draws people to you, makes them follow you, makes them feel safe.  You make people better people.  It's a gift - I know it is sometimes a burden, but I promise you it is an amazing gift.

I know you feel nervous about what lies ahead.  It's ok.  It's normal.  Your world is about to kick into high gear with demands you have only imagined.  YOU. ARE. UP. TO. THE. CHALLENGES.

I told you last week that this is when you start the best part of your life.  The tiny boxes you get squeezed into in high school are gone.  You can spread your wings, you can explore.  You will learn more about yourself in the next 4 years, hell, the next ONE year, than you learned in the past 18.  Take it all in.  This is when you start evolving into who you will be.  And if you stay brave and allow yourself to keep evolving, the person you are next year won't be the person you are 5 years from now, 10 years from now.  Life is about keeping your mind open and continuing to grow.  All the answers you are nervous about not knowing will come to you.  Just know that right now, in this moment, you are an amazing, talented, strong athlete.  You are a gifted, insightful artist with vision.  You are a person people want to call friend.

Everything about this silence that screams you being gone?  It hurts, but at the same time I am excited for the people who will get the joy of coming into orbit around you. 

When you graduated I wrote that Culley and Kendall taught me about the leaving, but that they were not in the position to teach me this last lesson - how to come home to this empty house.  This lesson is yours to teach.

We are both entering phases of life where we figure out who we are, what is next.  In this you will be my inspiration.  And when you falter or get afraid, I want you to remember this:

There is a reason I let you, hell, wanted you, to get that tattoo.  The Triforce, and all it stands for, have always been yours.  You have shown incredible COURAGE in the face of so many years of ups, downs, setbacks, pain.  You have demonstrated WISDOM beyond your years - focusing on your goals and taking the steps to reach them.  And you have POWER like none I have ever know.  Not just physical strength, but POWER - the kind that comes from deep inside.

These three things will move you through the challenges that are ahead.  I know they will.  And I will use your example as I move through the challenges and changes that lie ahead of me.

What's happening today is right.  Not simply because it is the natural progression of things, but because there are little signs everywhere...

Three years ago you met her in Germany.  Three years ago you cut your hair because of her.  For years she has been your idol, your hero, the player you play like, and right down to the hair, weight and height - look like.  That you received your new uniform kit this afternoon and it bears Megan Rapinoe's #15?  Well, my heart may be breaking, but I know, deep down in my very core, that everything in the world is right.

I miss you.  I love you.  I am in awe of you.  And I cannot wait to see you wear #15 when I watch you take the field in Memphis.  You are my hero.

Now, excuse me while I go put on Dance Moms.  It's just too quiet right now.

Mom

The Space You Fill

Today the world is a less funny place.  Today the world is, ever so slightly, off kilter.  Today, there is a hole where there used to be Robin Williams.

And we are all feeling that "hole."

A space we were not even consciously aware existed, now sits empty, void of the bright light that used to fill it, and the world - that space - we are now painfully aware of, is dark.

We all fill a space.  We fill it physically, of course.  But we also fill it with humor, pathos, companionship, warmth, personality, light, dark, genius, madness.  And to those whose lives we touch, the world is balanced because of that space we fill.  We may not see one another every day, hell, every year, but we feel that space is filled, as it should be.

When the life that fills the space is extinguished, we are suddenly, painfully, aware of how we took it for granted.  Not so much that we took the person for granted, although lord knows we humans excel at always imagining we have tomorrow, ergo, we are guilty of putting off the niceties and contacts of today.  No, we take for granted that "the space" is filled, and our world is balanced.

I'd hazard a guess that none of us spent time on the daily thinking about Robin Williams, reading about Robin Williams, watching a film starring Robin Williams.  Yet, he was there.

Yesterday afternoon, as the news hit the airwaves, Twitter exploded, Facebook newsfeeds quickly filled with tribute picture posts, and we all sat shocked as the space we took for granted was replaced with a hole, a darkness.

Robin Williams was beloved.  Fellow comedians, friends, relatives, fans around the world remember his humor, his crazy fast improv ability, the verbal lightning strikes that were his stock in trade.  We remember his generosity of spirit, his talent - who knew Mork's talent well ran so deep?  We remember favorite lines from favorite characters he played.

"Oh, Captain, my Captain..." - Dead Poets Society

"You ain't never had a friend like meeeeee!" - Aladdin

" So what? The important thing to remember is not to go to pieces when that happens. You have to react like a man, calmly. You have to say to yourself, "Albert, you pierced the toast, so what? It's not the end of your life." - The Bird Cage

"There's three things in this world that you need: Respect for all kinds of life, a nice bowel movement on a regular basis, and a navy blazer." - The Fisher King

"I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It's not. The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone." - The World's Best Dad

" You are in more dire need of a blowjob than any white man in history." - Good Morning, Vietnam

He filled his space well.  And that is why his leaving his space affects us all.  

Robin's journey through this life was not simply the laughfest with which he gifted us.  As is so often the case, genius is accompanied by madness.  And Robin battled his demons all his life.  Drugs, alcohol, depression - all at play, sometimes pushed beneath the surface, sometimes breaking through and demanding the spotlight.  He struggled mightily, all the while easing our struggles with the sweet balm of laughter.

In the end, the joy he managed to give so easily to others, remained elusive to him.  We will never understand the choice to exit stage right, as he did, but he leaves behind a wealth of laughter - the gift that will forever keep on giving to generations to come.

We all fill a space.  All of us.  We know not how long it will be ours to fill, so fill it well.  Light it bright.  Make it warm, welcoming.  Because when your light is extinguished, when the lease is up on your space, you will leave a hole in the lives of those who counted on your space to balance theirs.

The size of your space and the hole you leave matters not.  What matters is the significance attached to it for those left behind.

Robin's hole is huge.  <----- And yes, I believe he would laugh at that.

Please, don't worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day... make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular. - Jack

 

Ebola And The Power of Verbal Diarrhea

Fever.  Headache.  Stomach pains.  Difficulty swallowing.  Vomiting.  Almost certain death. 

In fact once a person begins to show symptoms, the fatality rate is over 90%.

Given all that, it's not a stretch to say, "Boy, Old Yeller had it coming, didn't he?"

Wait?  What's that?  You thought I was talking about ebola?  Silly, why would I be talking about something that has never threatened our shores? 

Now, rabies?  Rabies is alive and unwell and lives right among us every single day.

EVERY. DAY.

That's right.  Every single day every single one of us runs the risk of being bitten by an animal infected with rabies, yet somehow we manage to go about our lives without shitting our pants in fear.

Yet the mere thought that the CDC is treating two doctors who contracted ebola while treating others in Africa has the tinfoil brigade rending their garments and ramping up for the impending zombie apocalypse.

Oh, and cooking up the latest conspiracy because, you know, Obama.  (insert dramatic music and blinking lights)

Read any comment thread on an ebola article and you will immediately learn that this is a plot to destroy Amurika cooked up by the President while golfing.  Personally, I love a good multitasker, but that's just me.

Everyone's favorite hairpiece, Donald Trump, tweeted to his mASSES "The U.S. cannot allow EBOLA infected people back. People that go to far away places to help out are great-but must suffer the consequences!"

Such idiocy so beautifully contained within 140 characters.

We have politicians stoking the fires of low information fear.  Rep. Todd Rokita (R-Ind.) - I know, color me shocked he's an "R" - joined forces with other equally unenlightened brethren and sent a letter to the President concerned that those nasty brown children coming across the border have ebola.

He's not the first though.  Rep. Phil Gingrey (R-Ga.) got that ball rolling last month with this: “Reports of illegal migrants carrying deadly diseases such as swine flu, dengue fever, Ebola virus and tuberculosis are particularly concerning.  Many of the children who are coming across the border also lack basic vaccinations such as those to prevent chicken pox or measles. This makes those Americans that are not vaccinated – and especially young children and the elderly – particularly susceptible."

Pssst, Phil - there are whole contingents of parents in THIS country who refuse to vaccinate their children thus exposing this country to myriad diseases we currently consider controlled.  Where is your outrage?  Your concern?  After all, you are a doctor, correct?  Never mind.  Even the one who graduates med school dead last is called Doctor.

Look, is ebola deadly?  Absolutely.  Is there cause for concern?  Absolutely.  Just not here.

The Centers for Disease Control is better equipped to handle the two patients who contracted it while helping others in Africa, than pretty much anywhere on Earth.  The facilities, the doctors, the experts, the SCIENCE is in place to treat the patients and hopefully build upon what we do know of the virus.

It is beyond reprehensible that so many woefully ignorant "leaders" and talking heads are gleefully fomenting fear among the easiest to influence - those who make it an everyday practice to eschew FACTS, information, knowledge, lest it disrupt their inner narrative that seems to thrive on being angry, victimy, and STUPID.

I wrote yesterday that Sarah Palin made stupidity fashionable.  That stupidity is the new black. 

Well, unlike ebola, stupidity has a cure.  The problem is, those infected with it won't take the medicine.  They want to remain jumpy, deluded, paranoid, and uninformed.

The reality is that every single thing we touch, eat, drink; every breath we take, car we drive, trip we take; every flight of stairs we ascend or descend; every emergency trip to a hospital - COULD KILL US.  Hell, that bacon double cheeseburger, large fries, and Diet Coke have a much better chance of taking you down than ebola.  Heart disease is the #1 cause of death in this country.  But you eat it anyway.  Then again, we do so love chanting "We're #1!"

That cigarette hanging out your face?  Proven to have an unhappy ending.

Flu.  Yes, FLU.  1,532 people died from it last year.  Did you get a shot?  I didn't either.  Why?  Because those seem to be pretty decent odds when you consider the population.

So, the current soiling of the Hanes over two CONTAINED, QUARANTINED cases of ebola seems a little laughable.

If people in this country truly wanted to secure a better health outcome for themselves and their fellow citizens?  They'd worry less about the infinitessimal chance of contracting ebola, and focus on the food we eat, the chemicals we allow to be used to grow it,  the fracking we allow to poison our water tables - you know, things that are actually touching our lives daily.

But I guess some people just like pretending the sky is constantly falling, otherwise they may have to acknowledge they have been had by their heroes who are, in reality, a bunch of grifters whose only intent in selling them fear, bunkers, and seedbanks has been the lining of their own pockets.

They can have their fashionable stupidity.  I'll stick with my mullet of information.

In Honor Of Penny

Flowers are beautiful, but compared to other possible gestures, they wither and fade away.

To that end, Penny's family has asked that in lieu of flowers donations be made to a charity of the person's choice.

In chatting with her sister, she suggested that DGMS make a donation to a pet rescue operation, to honor Penny's memory as the animal lover she always was.

At the suggestion of several here at DGMS, we will be making a donation to The Beagle Freedom Project - they work tirelessly to rescue animals from lab settings and give them the type of homelife every pet deserves.

You may read about them HERE.

If you would be interested in contributing to the DGMS donation in remembrance of the wonderful, funny, sage, and snarky lady Penny was, please use the Namaste link on the left.

And as you keep Penny's family in your hearts during this unimaginable time, please also spare a thought for Tiger, her 21 year old cat, who is wondering where his most special person has gone.

The Sky Is One Star Brighter Tonight

It is with a very heavy heart that I type this.  While I don't yet have many details, Penny Bateson, a long time, wonderful, funny, loving member of our DGMS family passed away today.

Penny was a welcome addition to any discussion or debate, always chiming in with support and advice, joining in the fun, and was a regular presence in my inbox.

I have reached out to her sister tonight and offered our condolences.  I will let you know if I receive any additional information that can be shared, but tonight, I know you join me in thinking about Penny as she leaves our blogmunity and becomes part of the light, beauty, and love that is everywhere.

Penny's sister has asked me to ask our group to post memories of Penny in the comments, especially funny ones.  Like so many here at DGMS, she was a character.  I still have the email she sent me with this stupid poem during an especially awful winter in Canada:

Damn.

It's cold.

THE END.

I'll let you guys take it from here.

Godspeed, Penny.  You will be missed, but never more than a memory away.

She Cleans Up

I love when someone takes something so ubiquitous and turns it on its head.  If this were Project Runway, she went to Mood, got some amazing musical fabric and created a shape we've never seen before.  :)

Fun & Shames

Ahhhh, the good ol' days.  Like every generation before us, mine looks back on our childhood with nostalgia, a little regret, and a heaping helping of amazement that we made it out alive.

Compared to the world in which we are raising our children - a world replete with gizmos, gadgets, and sundry safety features - our childhoods were a landmine of potential hazards.

Raise your hand if you never wore a seatbelt.

OK, put your hands down, some of you need to shave your armpits.

We never wore seatbelts.  Like, ever.  Ever, ever, everever.  We stood up in the back seat, we lay on the floor over the hump on long car trips, we slept in the back of the station wagon.  And if we did sit in the front seat, our seatbelt consisted of mom's or dad's hand shooting out like a railroad crossing arm.  (News for them - in an actual accident, as the steering wheel would be eating your sternum, our bodies would have been taking your arm with us right through the windshield.)

We played outside.  Always.  Seriously, most of us can remember being kicked out of the house and forced to play outside by mothers who just couldn't deal with our shit any longer.

We rode our bikes along a busy road to get to the Stop 'n Go for Icees.  We went on hikes.  We were in and out of each other's houses like a game of Musical Abodes.  Easiest way to find us was to look for the clump of bikes on the ground in front of any given home. 

My siblings and I played around in the woods behind our house.  We took over the homes under construction every night after the workers were done. (Discarded drywall?  Awesome sidewalk chalk.)  We climbed trees.  Played kick-the-can.  We said goodbye, walked out the door, and our parents had not a single worry about us eventually showing back up - forced home either by hunger or the glow of the streetlights.

Fast forward to my own children.

They are basically not allowed out of my sight.

Sure, they have had bicycles - ridden under supervision.  And yes, they have played at friend's houses - escorted there by me or Rudy.  We have gone on many car trips - with them all fastened securely into carseats and seatbelts. 

The difference between the freedoms I enjoyed vs the lack of they exist under is stark.  But then so is the difference in society.

Seatbelts?  Look, that one is a no-brainer and should have been a law all along.  But considering doctors used to do cigarette ads, it is not surprising that seatbelts were just some annoying piece of fabric to be shoved out of sight into the crack.  Live and learn.

But supervision?  I don't like being in the clutch of fear 24/7 any more than any other parent, but if you are a realist, you simply do not turn your back on your child in this day and age.  A blink of an eye, a moment's distraction - that's literally all it takes for your child to become an Amber alert and a statistic, and for you to be plunged into a nightmare from which you will never awaken.

It's not that children weren't abducted back in the day - they were.  In fact, I still remember a 6 year boy in my neighborhood who was found dead in the woods after having gone missing.  But these days, it happens with Metamucil-level regularity.

Every single day, multiple times a day, children - baby to teen - go missing.  The latest statistics indicate that EVERY 40 SECONDS a child is reported missing/abducted. 

EVERY 40 SECONDS.

Over 2,000 children a day.

If that number isn't sobering, I don't know what is.

And that is why smart parents do not turn their backs.  They monitor their childrens' whereabouts, interactions.  They take the time to walk them or drive them from Point A to Point B.  Yes, I said SMART.  Because to make any assumptions about your child's safety these days is not only negligent, it is STUPID.

Which brings us to a news report out of Port St. Lucie, Florida.

This is Nicole Gainey and her 7 year old son, Dominic.

She doesn't look stupid.

But she is stupid.  I say that without apology, without hesitation.

S.T.U.P.I.D.

Nicole was arrested this past Saturday when concerned citizens (it takes a village sometimes when the idiot is allowed to have children) called police after seeing Dominic out on his own, heading to the park.

Police arrived, spoke with Dominic, who verified his mother knew he was out alone, and then they loaded his ass in the car and took him home where they interacted with Nicole.

Yes, I knew where my son was.

Yes, I let him go a couple times a week.

Yes, he has a cell phone hanging around his neck in case of emergency.

Idiot.

Nicole - you did not know where your son was.  You assumed, just as you assumed he would return.

Nicole - you admit you basically play Russian Roulette with your son's life multiple times a week.

And Nicole - that cell phone?  It means jack shit when someone abducts your kid.  How do you think that scenario goes down?  "Pardon me, sir, but might you wait a moment before you shove me in your white, windowless van, rape me, and throw me in a dumpster, so I may call my Mumsy?  Thanks ever so much."

Police arrested her on felony child neglect charges.  She was released 7 hours later on $3750 bond.

In my opinion she is getting off easy.

When you think of the alternative reason for police coming to her home?  The scenario in which she calls 911 frantic that Dominic has not returned home.  His around-the-neck cell phone found in the dirt under the swingset?

Yeah, I think a little public humiliation and a few dollars is easy by comparison.  (Should she have received a warning?  Possibly - and she will probably end up being let off - but given her attitude thus far, my guess is little Dom would be right back out walking the street the next day.)

But of course, there is the "nanny state contingent" crying foul over her arrest.  Saying she has every right to let her son wander amok.  That the police have no right to tell her what she can and cannot do.

Fine.  Then when little Dom comes up missing on one of his many treks to the park, those same police are under zero obligation to look for him.  If she has no compunction about her mASSive game of Will He or Won't He Come Home, then authorities should have no compunction about telling her to fuck off when he is late to dinner because he is dead in some alligator canal.

This is not about there being a Nanny State.  This is about common sense and the sad fact that many of our fellow citizens have none.

Don't tell me how safe your neighborhood or town is.  It's not.  Shit happens, and it happens everywhere.  My fancy, gated community didn't stop a near abduction three streets from my house. 

It's summer.  I see children - young ones - every single day, out and about without a parent or caretaker in sight.  It is even worse during school when they are walking along busy roads or cutting through the woods by my house to go to and from school.  If I were a predator, it is the equivalent of a Las Vegas All-You-Can-Eat buffet.  Only your child is on the menu.

None of us like that difference between how we galavanted as kids and how we basically have to lock down our own kids.  But those days are not these days.  They just aren't.

So, Nicole, while you are lawyering up and bitching to anyone who will listen about how you have been wronged?  STFU, look at Dominic, imagine him naked, beaten, and dead in a shallow grave, and then the next time he wants to go the park?  Get off your ass and GO WITH HIM.

Because when the day comes that he goes missing because you just assumed he would be ok?  The only game you'll be playing is the one where you kick your own can for the rest of your life.