Our Children Are Going To Be Assholes, and Don't Touch My F*cking Hat

I overheard a woman on the train the other day talking about this new children's book that her publishing division at.. um.. "Poppyseed Avenue"... is coming out with. Anyway, this children's book is revolutionary because the characters can now read the story to you -- "so that the parents don't have to! Yeah, it's wild, right?"

My eyes widened as I listened in on the conversation, and I turned down the volume on my iPod. You can't be serious, I thought. Parents are becoming obsolete now, aren't they. Their only purpose is to create us and release us, the rest we'll take care of on our own. Mommy is the automated storybook, and daddy is the cable TV.

I have an unsettling fear of this new generation, yall. Generation X has grown, Generation Y is balancing.. but that Generation Z, we've hit the last letter of the alphabet for a reason. That's the end, man. Kids are just too damn smart nowadays.

I was talking with my good friend IM a while back about her kids. We were stuck on the train over the bridge, so we had a rare moment to speak about the things we forgot to mention during our cigarette breaks at work. She was telling me about her youngest, Doodoos, who is now 7 years old. It is undeniable that he is extremely smart "for his age."

For his age. Really? Because nowadays, 7 year olds program DVD players for their technology-illiterate parents. Nowadays, 7 year olds cut school to hang out with their homies in local parks. Is he too smart for his age? Or his his age just too damn smart altogether?

One of my favorite stories about Doodoos is when he announced to IM that him and his friends started a crew. This was when he was 6, I believe. They gave each other nicknames and everything. IM grins, and says, "what's your street name?"

He crosses his arms, raises his chin. "They call me--" he lifts his hands with authority -- "The Masta Piece." IM crumbles into a fit of laughter, and asks what the other names were. His best friends name, the 2nd-in-command, was "The Dominator."

I laughed my tits off while she was telling me this, but something struck me as odd. Yo... How the fuck does a 6 year old know what "Dominator" even MEANS? Shit, when I was 6, I was learning how to color in the lines!

"I BLAME CABLE!" I declared. "We NEVER had cable at my parent's house. Still don't. My brother's been living there 18 years, and his ass is STILL dumb."

That evening on the train, IM and I were reminiscing about Doodoos again. She was saying that he was smart as soon he came out of her; he must have borrowed the intelligence from both his father and his mama. I tilted my head, then asked...

"Do you think that the kids of this generation are just.. ALL being born smart?" I was thinking about the stories my friends told me about their babies, their neices, their nephews. 9 year olds retaliating in arguments with "that's poetic justice!" (True story!) I was thinking about the incredible intelligence of the few toddlers I've met (shout out to Selena). Maybe it's not environment -- cable, tutoring, being read to -- as much as a revamped continuation of Darwinism? Maybe they are all being born with this incredible sense of perception? The difference could be that intelligence isn't necessarily guaranteed with that newly innate sense. The good ones might grow to be extremely smart, while the bad ones -- the "dumb" ones -- will become expert manipulators. Isn't it undeniable that ALL these fucking toddlers nowadays are too smart for their own damn good?

What now, when on top of cable tv, high speed internet, and hi-tech cell phones being placed in hands not big enough to even hold it properly, these little gremlins now get BOOKS that READ THEMSELVES? Am I bugging out right now?

"Poppyseed Avenue" was something I sat in front of before I fully understood the concept of numbers and colors. That's what The Tranny and Crelmo was there to teach me. My mother read to my brother and me every night (granted, she read to us in Korean, but I did learn how to read that language "by accident" because of her). It developed a bond between the mother and I that can't be severed, regardless of how badly it needs to be at times.

I'm worried. Now, along with this generation of scarily smart embryos, we've got the slew of women who aren't willing to take on the stay-at-home-mother role because 1), it would set feminism back by a million years and 2), they fought too hard as individuals for their careers, their independence, and their freedom. Women now take pride in the fact that they don't cook, they dedicate their lives to their jobs, and we have more degrees between us than ever before. That would be fine if the men switched roles to balance it out.. but they haven't. Our adult society is now a society of self-driven workaholics who fear dependency as much as they fear death.

These children are going to be self-reliant by the time they are 11. Self-reliant, but ignorant of the lessons that will never abide to shifting trends; lessons that will always take their time revealing themselves to their recipents. Yet these 11 year olds will feel like they can make their own decisions, because their parents are no longer role models, authority figures, caretakers. Their parents are helpless babysitters. Roommates. Do you see where I'm going with this?

We're going to grow into this extreme society where on one side, humans will never develop the ability to learn anything on their own. On the other, humans will already know too much too soon, and they will misuse what they have. We're running ourselves into the ground, yall. Yes, be afraid. Do something about it. We need to adjust everything standard -- teaching methods, for example -- to fit and one-up this inevitable outcome. Don't say I didn't warn you.

* * *

On another note, a friend of mine just 'dumped' me because I get extremely aggravated -- er, enraged -- every time he puts his hands on my face. Which is a lot of the time. He likes to push buttons.. but on top of that, I found out today that his method of showing affection to his female friends is by doing things like pinching their cheeks or their noses, ruffling their hair. That's cute and all, but fuck no. The first time he stuck his pinky into my ear as a joke, I flipped and cursed him out. You just don't DO that. Shit.

The second time, he grabbed my hat and wiggled the bill around. I had told him over and over and over again that I don't like hands near my face, ON my face, AROUND my face -- and I especially hate it when people touch my hat. Son, you just DONT. DO THAT SHIT.

There were a few more times where he forgot and reached for my face, and each time my temper flared.

Now, I love hanging out with this kid. He is extremely intelligent, funny, kind hearted, and supportive. He's helped me through a lot of my tough times, and I give him nothing but the utmost respect. However.

Last night, as we were parting ways at Union Square, I made a joke about him and we laughed. He took off his hat, shoved it in my face, and shook it around. My smile got stony, my head jerked back, and I pointed at him before I abruptly walked away. I was too heated to even kiss his cheek. HOW many times did I have to tell this dude? Like, for real?

He sent me an email this morning, explaining that he feels like he has to walk on eggshells around me because he never knows what is going to set me off. He doesn't like being afraid to hug me, doesn't like wondering if this time, he's hugged me wrong. While I understand that, I responded that I only react when he gets near my face. I've told him on many occasions that I did not like that. He suggested that we fall back to being email/texting friends, because he does not want to have to censor his actions, and it will be a win/win because I will not feel "disrespected."

I left it alone. I agreed. It made me sad -- but even more, it made me angry. I told him that I was an abused child, that hands on my face trigger an unconscious bullet that tears through my demeanor before I could blink. Instead of flinching and withdrawing, I lash out immediately. Yet, I do my best to keep that rage in check. I don't hit him back, my fists are clenched by my sides. I don't yell, I don't throw a fit. I just get very quiet and ask him not to do it again, warnings in my eyes and all.

It wasn't worth the constant flares, if he wanted that then that's what he will get.

What heated my blood so much was that even he acknowledged our awesome friendship. We have the most amazing, retrospective, intelligent conversations ever. They go on for hours at times, and we learn a lot from each other. We vibe great. But word? Drop all that because of this?

Let me break it down to you, homie.

Actions can be controlled.
Emotions cannot.

You tell me who is in the position to make the most compromise here.

I'm sincerely sorry that this is another friendship lost. But I can't change myself in this situation. I can't. This is an immediate reaction, it's an emotion that can't be suppressed -- which I genuinely try my best to do, again, when I feel the rage bubbling up past my lips -- or controlled. That might take years of therapy.

Or, it could take more conscious efforts from you to not touch my fucking face.

But hey, apparently that's not something you're able or willing to do, you say. So, then, it is what it is. I'm not going to stress about it any longer.