Dave posted a link to a New York Times story today about morons lazy shiftless ne’er-do-wells parents who have so little control over their kids that they’re “forced” to hire “coaches” to help them deal with the little monsters they themselves created their kids.
To wit:
What tripped Lisa D’Annolfo Levey’s maternal tolerance meter on a recent Tuesday afternoon was not just the toy football her 7-year-old son, Skylar, zinged across the living room, nearly toppling her teacup. Or the karate kick sprung by her 4-year-old, Forrest, which Ms. Levey ducked, barely. The clincher was the full-throttle duel with foam swords, her boys whooping and squealing, flailing their weapons at the blue leather couch, the yellow kidney-shaped rug, and, ultimately, their mother. “Forrest, how about you come up and hug Skylar instead of whacking him in the head?” Ms. Levey implored. “This is stressing me out, guys. You can sword, but I’m feeling compromised here.”
As Dave noted:
OK, already I have three major problems with this story:
1. “Skylar”
2. “Forrest”
3. “You can sword, but I’m feeling compromised here.”
I don’t know how you were raised, but my mom would not have called a coach in this situation. She would have compromised our butts right out of the house.
I concur, wholeheartedly. Parents like Ms. D’Annolfo should, in fact, be dragged before a judge and beaten with large Nerf swords themselves.
