Amy Alkon: How to Criminalize Being a Boy.
On a related and personal note, my son (10) was suspended from school prior to Christmas because he and a friend drew pictures of men with guns in a before school program.
He had to see a psychiatrist twice and be tested (Rorshach method) and evaluated to determine if he was a threat to the school.
Sadly, I can’t get him out of that school (a school, coincidentily, that aided in ending my marriage by acting as an “advocate” when my ex alleged abuse toward my oldest).
The psychiatrist spent ten minutes with him and said, “I know M___. He’s no threat.” He still had to go through the whole process.
This morning, the ex and I took him to school and the VP gave us the solemn, “We’re concerned and he will need to be on probabtion (undertermined length when asked).” The ex nodded dutifully. I rolled my eyes and said, “Whatever.”
My oldest, yeah, he can be a handful. My youngest is just pure “boy.” I blog about my sons and raising them as a single father is a feminist world. My youngest is an easy-going, happy and normal boy (so was the boy he was drawing with, I knew him when I was Cubmaster).
They are criminalizing being a boy.
Defend them. Tell them it’s B/S. Undermine, yes undermine, the school’s authority. It is fraudulent and deliberately desctructive toward your primary and superior duty to raise your sons to be men.
Too strong? They tried to crush my youngest for daring to be a boy. A great kid. A kid who has never been a discipline problem in school, on teams, or at school.
“A great kid. A kid who has never been a discipline problem in school, on teams, or at home.
Forgot to mention, he must also continue seeing the psychiatrist, as a term of agreement to be allowed back into that school. The psychiatrist doesn’t think he needs anything long term.
I cannot express how frustrating it is to see your family ripped apart and attacked by the people who should have their interest at heart.
A sad part is if you dare to express anger, they spring up and say, “You have ‘anger problems’ and need counseling.” You have to sit and take it and cannot show normal, justified, and healthy anger over lunacy.
Parents who send their sons to the Liberal Feminist Indoctrination System (aka “Public Schools”) should be prosecuted for child abuse.
My boys go to Catholic school. Short of home-schooling, I don’t think anywhere is safe.
So do my daughters. It’s not perfect, but it’s a darn site better than a public school. Since we pay them beaucoup dollars for tuition there is at least SOME responsiveness to parental requests, as opposed to the tax-funded public school in out district where they couldn’t care less what the parents want.
War on Men! http://research.stlouisfed.org/fred2/data/LNS11300001_Max_630_378.png
When I was a boy, the greatest toy I ever had was a Man from U.N.C.L.E. spy kit. I got it for Christmas, and it was really cool.
Basically, it was a black plastic briefcase. Inside was a spring-loaded gun that shot red hollow plastic bullets. There were also barrel and stock extensions so it could be converted into a rifle for long range targets. The kit also contained a plastic knife, a periscope, and a camera.
The coolest thing about it was that there were buttons on the handle of the briefcase so that you could shoot the gun from inside, eject the knife, or take a picture. I made myself an identity card on an index card with crayons, Secret Sam, agent 001.
Back then we had to wear uniforms to school, a dress shirt, slacks with a belt, and shoes, not sneakers. Since the school was only a few block from my house, I walked. People driving by would see me in my uniform with my brief case and think, “How cute, the young professional.” They didn’t know I was a spy.
I sneaked around the school, peering around corners and into windows with my periscope, taking pictures of suspicious activity. You know, normal spy stuff.
One day, I was standing on the playground, spying, and this stupid fat kid came up and demanded to know what was in my briefcase. I told him to go away. He tried to take it from me, so naturally I shot him. POW! Hit him right in the chest.
He started crying. Teachers came running. They dragged me into the office, where the principal (a woman, of course) pried the briefcase out of my hands and opened it. At that moment, I went from young professional to terrorist assassin. They called my parents and everything. I showed her my identity card, but she didn’t buy it.
Yeah, I got expelled from kindergarten. I got grounded and my parents took my spy kit away. Still, it was the best toy I ever had.
That was in 1967. So this has been going on for a long time, the demasculation of boys. It wasn’t like I was running around the school shooting people. I was spying. If that stupid fat kid hadn’t tried to take my briefcase away, I wouldn’t have shot him. I was defending myself.
A little red hollow plastic bullet, like that’s going to hurt anyone. It didn’t even cause a bruise, but it did scare him.
Now, today, I would probably be in juvenile detention. These people consider finger guns threatening. I’d hate to see what they would think of a spy kit, but then I’ve been down that road before.
Anyone want to guess what would happen to a present-day, real-life Huck Finn or Tom Sawyer?
They’d probably end up cell mates with Randal Patrick McMurphy.
Put two PC-parent-raised toddlers in a room with a toy-chest and the girl will likely pull the doll out of the chest and the boy will pull out the truck.
And, if he’s a full-blooded boy, will run the doll over with it. I certainly would have. Actually, I probably still would.
When the girl isn’t looking, you kidnap the doll and leave a ransom note you have no intention of honoring. It delays the FBI and gives the girl a false sense of hope. Just because.
You take the doll and the truck out to the New Jersey Pine Barrens in the dead of night. You bring along a battery-operated model rocket ignition system (Estes in Colorado has a nice rig), a 1 lb. coffee can full of Hercules Red Dot shotgun powder, a half cup of #7 lead bird shot, a roll of duct tape, today’s newspaper and a digital video camera.
You put the doll in front of a pine tree as thick as you can find. Wrap a small piece of duct tape around the doll’s mouth and draw little tears on her face. You punch a hole in the plastic coffee can lid and insert the model rocket ignition wire (be sure to first remove the batteries from the ignition grip, if you ever intend to repeat this little stunt).
Strip out about four feet of duct tape and slowly pour the lead bird shot onto the sticky side, but don’t coat it completely. Wrap the tape around the coffee can, lead-side to the metal, until the whole can is covered in shot-coated tape. Set the coffee can at the base of the tree and put the doll on top of it with its legs spread so the ignition wire protrudes out from between them. Terrific psychological effect if you have a close-up zoom on the camera.
Rest the newspaper behind the can and doll so the headlines can be read in the video you’re about to shoot.
Take your video camera and, starting with the zoom out, slowly zoom into the can/doll/newspaper shot until you can see the tears you drew on the doll’s face. DO NOT SPEAK AT ALL! Digital voice recognition software will put you in Rahway MaxSec for 15 to life.
Once you have the video, take your truck back into your vehicle and tell it that trucks are wonderful things and how it should be grateful it isn’t a dol. Replacing the batteries in the ignition grip of the model rocket starter, hide behind another tree and blow the doll to smithereens. You need to leave the video camera on, but obviously don’t shoot the explosion. Just get some debris flying out from the center of the blast.
Take off and hit an Internet cafe, upload the video onto YouTube, paying with cash. Never use a credit card.
Email the girl’s parents from the cafe, telling them about a new viral YouTube video their daughter just has to see.
“Run over the doll with the truck.” Some imagination you have, Ern.
Yeah, I forgot. You need lighting. An old Coleman double-mantle gas lantern works good, especially if it’s low on fuel. The flickering gives a nice “hopelessness” effect. Full moons are good, too.
Well done, sir!
It’s possible I watched too many Martin Scorcese and William Friedkin movies. You can’t imagine how many things I’ve blown up with shotgun powder when I was a kid.
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