Children steal freedom, they are perpetually sticky, they’re walking embodiments of all that is evil with unprotected sex.
But, they are honest. The impediment that filters our thoughts from our dialogue is absent in a sticky-fingered child. If society and parents didn’t force kids to learn to lie, employ lies, and worship said lies, the world would be a better — or at least a very different — place.
My old man picked me up from school and took me grocery shopping. I was sitting in the cart with feet swinging when a tall black lady spotted my dad and made her way toward us. They exchanged pleasantries, and then he turned to me and said, “This is my friend Janine.”
“You don’t have any black friends,” I said, and instantly the conversation ended. Now, I meant no malice. I just knew they weren’t friends. She was the first black person I had ever seen my father speak to.
I remember picking my nose on the ride home, conscious that something was wrong but oblivious that I was the root of it. As soon as we got in the house, Dad socked me in the face. For being honest.
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