High Crimes and Misdemeanors: Bought & Sold on the Free HealthCare Market

Separation Anxiety.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and someone in the adult world had best get to some serious adulting.

Seriously.

High up or low down. Demean, demeaning, demeanor really is the same thing spelled differently. The goal is the same. Putting a price on the head of a person. Not cool.

Before another teen, “preetee” pre-teen or let’s just say adolescent listens to another adult and gives up. Freely surrenders their identity to a new wave counselor or free thinking teacher. Or team of adults. We had best get a grip.

On the kids. For the kids. On behalf of the kids. And not allow legal mumbo jumbo to be the gummed up gumbo they will be consuming—scrambled, wrecked—unchecked. Or gumming it will become the kid’s fate.

Sooner rather than later please we need to put reasonable doubt BACK into their beautiful minds. Not desperate, you are forgotten, hope and change will cure you and put that load of hooey (for lack of a less pleasant word) into or their hands or into a “curriculum” that will saturate them into thinking they are,

Less than. Another. Any other. You other. Me other. Other other.

Bearing the biological burden of bearing a human is at times unbearable. Just ask the over-worked, exhausted workers in and on the fields of the Psychological Warfare going on as we speak, in the present, in real time.

Because we are there. And I like you. Just the way you are. Really. And. Although times seem crazy. You are not crazy.

Struggle is not a blank check for: Change who you are because you are not good enough.

Let’s change that narrative sooner rather than later because was scares me the most is what we DON’T know, what is right in front of us, eating us alive, along with the last plate of gumbo.

Who cares to read the fine print anyway?

Me. For one. It is where the most educational, interesting “meat” of the matter exists. The disclaimers, the what-ifs, the “gotcha”. But by the time is it scrolled up or down to, we have a migraine—the cost of the medicine already bought, paid for and sold back onto the market while you are trying to:

Figure it out.

Before the last sentence your good nature has been sold and is being re-worked, re-vamped, re-edited. Without pictures of the tiny little speck. I guess no pictures has it “benefits”.

As an adult, my role as an adult and duty to the younger “Me’s” is to give it to you straight, sometimes hard and fast. What you ask?

The Medicine of Reality, Reasonableness and Respectfulness. Assume the role of the the grouchy bearer of the bearest, bare-est truth.

Your lives are being sold out from under you. I cannot stand by and watch this happen to you because. I like you just the way you are. Really. I do.

To bear another human is not a science experiment. It is a mystery that is for sure. But it is not a gate, a gateway or a free pass to a life of luxury, to another life. Wait a second. I’d like to elaborate. Parenthood IS another life, for sure. Fraught and confusing and scarey and joyous. Tests the mettle of any human. Brings you to your crying, sobbing knees sometimes.

And causes one to jump up and down for joy other times. Conventional wisdom states being a grandparent is the best because then you can “Give them back” to their parents—those darn little ankle biters!

Hmmm. Anyway. I digress.

When navigating the parental waters, one is versed in reading, righting, rithmatic, a scholar, medial doctor, pharmacist, sports coach, teacher, cooker, cleaner………driver, lunch packer, egg flipper…bad aid putter-on-er. Nutritionist, Sugar police, Interrogator of friends in the neighborhood, school hall ways, on the school bus stop, school playground, school dance.

Growing up the adults on the playground who watched as the kids played was a school program called: Mother’s Patrol. The Mothers on the playground who watched as the kids ran around and not hurt themselves and one another. Mother’s Patrol.

No kidding!

I challenge any Law Enforecement officer. If I may be so respectful as well, I would be hesitant to place a Police Officer up against any Mother handling Mother’s Patrol duty. Both a 24/7 job. No offense to the Fathers, the males at the time of this particular generational happening, but the group, consisted mostly of females. Mothers on Mothers on Patrol.

While Fathers toiled elsewhere and in a similarly important role.

Bread Winner.

One did not, could not happen, without the other. But not to forget the most important being in the picture. Who all this fuss was about was,

The kid.

Desperately trying to find their way, earn their place, figure out what it is all about. The bullies were there, the best friends too, the science fairs, the intramurals. And the best lesson of all.

Dodge Ball. Sometimes termed “Bombardment”. Yep. And. Ouch..

Kids would stand on opposite sides of a room and throw large balls at one another. It was a lesson in life health strategy. The best part. During this game, all players were equally exposed.

How is that for equity and equality!

Through out the “elimination game” the one left standing was the one who won. Throught the game in real person and in real time (kinda like in a bar setting, but not with all the frill —totally different for obvious and perhaps not so obvious to some reasons) There was no shoulder baring, perfectly coiffed hair and pristine painted face…. While bobbing and weaving, if paying attention, a player could astutely learn who was quick, who could bob and weave, who had the strongest arm, the most accurate throw.

Who cried when hit.

Who laughed when that person cried.

Who ran bravely up to the line, who stayed in the background. Who got wolloped in the noggin’, who bruised easily, who did not. When “out”.

Where they went—to get water, air or a better view of the game—more observation of the game. But most importantly when one was “out”, whether they

Stood on the sidelines.

Or sat down on the ground to further figure out the nuances of the game.

Which in current times there are many. Too many. For the kids to fathom. There lives have been turned inside out and they really are not a or the “Cause du jour”.

They are a person. Not a piece of meat. Not to be chewed on, spit out. The cumulative anxieties blowing in the wind right now is simply too much. Way too much. The head wants what the heart does too, but the dis connect becomes so clouded. Drawing a picture may not even help.

Enveloping the matter into a gift card of “You need to change for the better” is downright and upright cruel and unusual punishment. Separating fact from fiction does not make the fact more of a fact or the fiction more fiction. But it can cause needless and unnecessary anxiety. Lots of it. Separation anxiety

How do you like them apples for legal interpretation of the facts. I will take a giant bite outta that and pass it on. I have no germs I fear passing on. After all, an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Right? The proof is in the pudding. The sugar-free kind.