A guy I highly respect posted a blog about Girl Scout cookies and absentee Girl Scouts. Go read Doug’s blog. OK, done? You read my comment and I don’t have to give a play-by-play? Good. Anyhoo, I got to thinking about it, and it bothers me. More and more and more and more and more.
When did it become OK, even the ‘thing to do’ for parents to do their kids’ dirty work? Selling Girl Scout cookies? What? No. I’m sorry, but I didn’t sign up for that junk. No frackin’ way. If Kaiser is ever (really?) a boy scout or in the band or on a team or…whatever, believe it—I’ll not be out peddlin’ his wares while he chugs a Dr. Pepper and enjoys a little Playstation 46. I didn’t spend an entire summer of my life in a cheerleading uniform, selling donuts door-to-door to do it all over again, two decades later, for my kid. Not gonna happen.
Why are parents such pushovers? Really. It’s apparent and widespread. Some have simply lost the plot. They don’t get it. That simple, yet timeless truth: We are the parents and with that role come rights and responsibilities. It’s our job to prepare our little ones for the real world. It’s our job to be kind and caring. It’s our job to ensure that we aren’t raising a generation of lazy, self-entitled poop heads. These parents, the same ones that push their kids cookies and popcorn to pressured co-workers and the general public, they’re the ones likewise coddling their tiny terrors with Oreos and television. Bribing them to behave in Walmart. Letting normal tantrums turn into full-out wars of will. And years later, these are the same parents that allow parties at their own homes because, hey, the kids are gonna drink anyway, right? Wrong.
What. The. What.
Grow some balls. Stop selling your kid’s shit. Stop justifying your kid’s bullshit. Stop being a friend and start being a parent. Can’t get the old ladies at church to buy your cookies? It’s unfortunate that you won’t be receiving your Girl Scout backpack this year. Oh, you like to Smirnoff Ice at 16? You breathalyze the little boogers the moment they enter the front door. Oh, hi sweetlove, glad you made curfew. Now go pee in this cup, ya little druggie. It’s really, perfectly simple. You’re the parent.
When you behave like a friend, or worse – like a partner-in-crime — all you’re doing is setting Junior up for a catastrophic fall. As parents, we of course want to help. And God help us, we love to be loved. But I think I’d rather be feared, at least a little, than be the coolest mom on the block. And seriously, don’t you have something better to do? Go home, pop open a beer, send the tyke to the curb to flag down motorists. (I jest. Mostly.)