« Road Tripping | Main | I feel so used »

September 25, 2005



You do realize that if our daily topicality keeps on this track someone's going to call Chomsky and turn us in for manufacturing consent?



Yes, but leave the number next time, even if it embarrasses everyone involved. I mean, what if, god forbid, your daughter is rendered unconscious by some illness or accident? I have a hard time letting my son go anywhere.


I did. I had the same thought. :-)


God, is it...wait for it...just me, or have we become a really paranoid society? Granted, my mother was capable of having emotional maelstroms if she came home and found me gone from the house without a note (mind you, I was 18 in a vanilla Central Valley suburb town not exactly known for its 'hoods but to my mother that meant for nothng) but still--I'm glad I'm not a parent and have to run a Homeland Security check on every prospective friend of my child and their family and potential terrorist connections....
Sheesh, what a world...


It's not just you. That's what we do now. It has to do with the fact that our kids' friends aren't just down the street, and the kid can't get there (or leave there) on her own steam.

It has to do with more than that. But that's a start.

We're raising a whole generation of agoraphobics, and I for one don't know how to stop it.


Glad it went well -- and I'm still shuddering from your description of the last sleepover. Yikes.

I'm with Keith -- if I were asked "Doesn't your kid know her own number?" I'd be likely to respond with "Yes, but if she's DEAD she isn't going to be much help, is she?"


They didn't invite Crazy Uncle Bill with the drinking problem and shotgun collection? He comes to all our parties. In fact, we usually leave the kids with him while we go out.


Yeah, it's natural to think our fears might be misplaced sometimes and that we tend to be overprotective, but: Let me tell you about the time my older (about 9 at the time) son came home from a classmate's house after school one day and -- very troubled -- shared with us that his playmate had taken a pistol out of his dad's secret pistol hiding place. A real pistol, with real bullets.

Talk about having your heart in your mouth. We told the dad, and I'd like to say he got religion about locking up his guns, and that was the end of it. Tragically, it wasn't. Another kid came over to play one day a few years later and was shot and killed while my son's erstwhile playmate goofed off with a pistol.

I'll *always* be haunted by that. And we were the ones who got off with our son in one piece. So -- if there's a moral -- the more we know about where they're spending time, the better.


Gah! Oh my god! Sorry!


Oh, no -- I wasn't responding to your comment, Jo, just to the whole "what are you gonna do?" theme. What you said was funny.

The guy who's really sorry (and ought to be, forever) is the father of the kid who did the shooting; in a way, the dad made it inevitable that something like this would happen (he made a point of keeping an unlocked semi-automatic pistol with a round chambered, meaning it was always ready to go off if you squeezed the trigger; his kid didn't know that). Anyway, I just brought that up as an example of what a parent can't possibly know when their child goes off to play at Johnny's house. The best you can do is what Pam describes -- trying to get a feel for the parents and whether they seem mostly clearheaded when they talk to you; mostly, because what parent is really completely clearheaded?


Look, you can protect your house against negro crackhead terrorist Manson Family devotees in search of white women and 50 Cent CDs or you can allow your kids a reasonably safe home atmosphere to grow up in. Can't have both. That's the American way....
(PS--this IS parody, for those who couldn't tell...!)

The comments to this entry are closed.