Dear Children: Here’s Why I Cared| Misfit Style

Yesterday I received a welcomed comment on my Facebook page about my page not being lighthearted anymore. It got me to thinking; I decided the lady was right. I’ve lost my sense of humor. You’re free to argue if I ever had a sense of humor in the first place. I’ve received messages about my humor before. It isn’t for everyone. That’s your fair warning.

In my five minutes of deep soul-searching last night, I thought what better way to address the world’s problems than with an open letter. They are SUPER original. Nothing tugs at the old heart-strings like writing a letter to your kid for the entire world to read. I’m not saying I’ve never done it, because I totally have written them. Gotta get those clicks!

Open letters allow a reader to put themselves in the writer’s shoes. This way random-ass people can share an open letter from some stranger on the Facebook instead of taking the time to write their children privately. Also, they never have to actually discuss with their children whatever the hell is going on.

What better way to make people have feelings than to use children. Not all children. I’ve recently been made aware of an upsetting fact. Children have to look like their children, otherwise they don’t matter. Some children are valued more than other children.  We’ll get into all of this in my theatrical reenactment of a recent article I read and HATED. Also, I’ve recently have come to the understanding I am supposed to put a plethora of hyperlinks in my articles. This way you’ll believe everything I write!  Ohhhh, you’re in for a treat tonight. I love to hyperlink. Slipped one in right there. CLICK ON IT!

For the record: The piece you are about to read is satire. I have to tell people this. I don’t know why.

Dear Children (not all children, just American children. I don’t have time to write ALL the children).

You are so precious. I like some of you, for the most part. It’s cute how you pick your nose in public and don’t care. Then you eat your boogers and look at me to say with your precocious devious stare, “What’s up? Yea, I just picked my nose in aisle 5 at the Target. I don’t give two craps. You can’t make me stop. I do what I want. Now where’s my popcorn and slushy drink?” I think you’re throwing toddler gang signs that may be threatening my life. I break down and get the popcorn and slushy.

Someday, sweet children, you’re going to grow up. It is then you will hopefully have stopped picking your nose and eating your boogers, at least in public. I also hope in this time you won’t be living in my basement and can afford to buy your own popcorn and slushy drinks. I hope you actually live to see your adulthood because of the unprecedented election of a mad dictator. Today, like today in real time today, he managed to piss off Iran, Mexico, and Australia. Yea, Australia. Go figure.

You are going to learn, my dearest children, about a bleak, dark time in America’s history. I’m not talking about the time we just sat back and ignored the holocaust either. I’m talking about modern-day fascism.

You’re probably wondering why a lot of white women didn’t do anything?

That’s why I’m writing to all the children. Not just my child. All of them. But only American kids, because in the last few days, y’all don’t seem to care about other children. You’ve made your point quite obvious.

Baby children, precious sweet little baby American boys and girls, we live in a day and age where I’m busy. Wearing yoga pants, and not doing yoga. Getting you to and from school, soccer practice, and all my social media time, it adds up. There’s also making sure I have time to kill some Pinterest crafts. Because I’ll be damned if your Valentine’s cards aren’t laced with crushed candy canes I baked in the oven and smashed with a hammer and glued onto tissue paper to spell out each individual classmate’s name. This is important shit. And I nailed it. Wait till they see my Easter plans. They told me I couldn’t buy those kinder eggs… never said I couldn’t make them from scratch.

What I have forgotten to tell you, my baby bears, is about all the crap women and minorities had to fight so we could be free. To make you free. This way you can enjoy your popcorn and slushy drinks from Target. And conveniently, because of the color of your skin… well there was a period in time we don’t like talking about at all. It’s called slavery. The racism has never really ended. We also eat delicious turkey dinners at Thanksgiving because we like to celebrate how we stole land from the indigenous people, slaughtered them, and forced them to live on reservations.

But you see, none of those things are really keeping you from being you. So why talk about it?

I hate to inconvenience your booger picking with the truth.

The truth is, dearest doe-eyed children of the GREAT USA (only those kids), we don’t like to talk about how life will still suck, especially if you are a different color, or a woman, or have a disability. We don’t like to burden you with things like poverty. Or how in the hell we can’t afford your college education, because we are poor.

It seems we made the choice to be poor, so I’ve been told. We made the brave sacrifice to choose crap jobs where men get paid more than women and minorities. You are welcome. Because of our crappy career choices, that we went to college for, we didn’t make one damn bit good in this world. Doesn’t matter your father is a teacher and ensures test scores are high enough to receive the government’s money. While he also spends more time with most children than their own parents do. He also probably has more of impact on guiding children to their future career goals, and other life decisions. It also doesn’t matter that your mom works 3-4 jobs. Because I chose these things and I never liked to sleep anyway. 

This is what makes America great.

It’s getting even better by the day!

We are going to build this stupid wall (I know I said you were never allowed to say ‘stupid’ but this is STUPID).

We’re probably be at war in a month or so. But no biggie. Because some Mommies were busy fighting for our daughters and sons to have the same privileges we had growing up. Some mommies chose to look beyond their own picket fences and see down the road. Some mommies care about freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and this Mommy cares A WHOLE BIG BUNCH ABOUT FREE PRESS.

These are things I’m willing to do for you. For all of you.

I will fight and type and march, and fight and type and throw a damn trashcan, to not lose our country. To make sure every boy and girl has the same rights, the same freedoms, and to ensure there is still an America left.

Because someone has to do it.

This land is for everyone, not just the privileged and white.

People need the read the book they are quoting. At this point Jesus would be handcuffed in an airport because after two years of vetting our new government is still worried he could be a terrorist. You never know.

To my son, you were born headstrong. You were born with BOTH your mother’s and father’s strength. Stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. Know your mother fought like hell, and some people hated her for it. She didn’t give a damn. Remember, there is nothing wrong with being a Misfit. To all children everywhere, I am sorry we have failed you in so many ways. Some of us are trying to make it better. 

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1 Comment on "Dear Children: Here’s Why I Cared| Misfit Style"

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Laura Speakes
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I don’t know what to say to you, except that you are AWESOMETASTIC! (It is a word…I know because I made it up. lol) Thank you for this…thank you for all that you write, I just wanted you to know that I do appreciate you and your writing. <3

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