It’s All in the Damned Family
The problem with the world today is that the traditional family has gone the way of the Antillean Cave Rat, the Louisiana Vole and the Thicktail Chub.
In my day a family was comprised of a dad, a mom and enough children to clean the horse stalls and pull a two-furrow plow. Throw in some drunken uncles, unmarried aunts and surly grandparents and you had yourself a respectable assortment of authoritarians, outcasts and half-wits that you called kin.
We had nuclear families – tightly packed groups of people that were volatile, highly charged and prone to violent explosion.
Nowadays, though, the whole notion of family has been shot to hell. All you see are single parents, blended families and children with six different last names hyphenated together in some sorry attempt to create a patchwork of familial identity. Well I’ve got news for you, fifteen loosely-related people living together on alternate weekends isn’t a family – it’s a god damned commune. And trust me; patchouli oil, granola and free-love do not a family make.
In my day people got married, had kids and stayed together until someone had the decency to die. You only got one kick at the spousal can and if you made a poor choice you took your lumps, hung up your libido, retired to the garage and started collecting tin soldiers and sports memorabilia.
It seems nowadays though that even those few couples that stay together make a damned mess out of things. As soon as the woman drops her sprog she shunts it off to a daycare and heads off to work so that they can be a “two-income family” with a state-raised child. It’s disgraceful. If my missus needed extra pin money she hit me up for a raise to her allowance or hosted a Tupperware party, she didn’t institutionalize our offspring and start perusing the help wanted pages of the local paper.
It’s no wonder our damned young people all end up in prisons – eating, sleeping and getting changed in the same room as 600 of their peers is the closest thing to normality they’ve ever experienced. We may as well just assign numbers to their diapers and start having the little buggers hammer out licence plates.
It’s time for Americans to stop flitting between bed-mates, farming out our kids and abandoning our responsibilities and get back to traditional family life – for better or god damned worse.