Dealing With It

Darling Christina has a minor coup on her hands just now after a really not-good morning. I can only imagine the tiresome nature of complaints these days. NO IDEA AT ALL of what life was like and could be again.

Not happy with the rules? Deal with it. Which circles back to Trooper’s rude awakening at 2:45a this morning. Yet another teen fatal. A girl, this time. Single car wreck, as usual.

One gets a sort of bleak, dark humor about it, working the same scene over and over. The same kids out well past any sort of reasonable hour. The same Goddamned terrible notification of horrified parents. The same blunt, cold paperwork. And, as I commented, yet another spray painted street and hose job. No, there won’t be an open casket. Again.

Kids, stay the fuck home. Can I put it more plainly than that? NOTHING good happens after midnight. And you might think that life is Unfair and you are being Oppressed because you cannot spend the worst hours on the road? That you aren’t being allowed to play those odds with your life?

How about being thankful that you’ve a parent who’d rather have you hating them for a month – even forever – than to have you hosed off a road and out of their lives forever?

Because, really, it gets hard finding places to stow those mental pictures, the echoes of the anguished sobs, after awhile.

But you deal with it.

6 responses to “Dealing With It

  1. Laura, as the father of a 17yo son and a 15yo daughter, I have to agree. My oldest gets pissed at me quite frequently about my curfew rules and my willingness to enforce them. “I know it’s dark, but I can take care of myself…”Yeah, that’s fine, but a father should never have to outlive his son. I watched one of my grandfathers had to bury one son and the other bury two. I saw the pain and despair in their eyes. I hope to God I never have to do bury one of my children, and I am willing to risk being called a bastard to avoid it. They have too much life left to live to blow it all on staying out too late.

  2. Rules rules rules hate me if you must but it is my charge to keep you safe as long as I can. Mine is 19 and doing fine-rules rules rules

  3. Thanks, guys. Trooper took the time to tell the tale, front to back, with photos. Decompress, as it were.I am so disgusted at the whole thing – particularly by the attitude of the kids – that I cannot even process it.She had half of her head, friends.She was lovely, sweet looking. And had half a head.Jesu, bar the fucking doors and windows if need be. Or give them their pink slips and kiss each cheek.Och, it’s a pitiful damned sight.

  4. I swear, I can usually handle this stuff with a oh-well attitude. But I really have an issue with this – perhaps so closely timed with Sweet’s desire to take that risk…It makes me sick to think about it. And makes me want to write her a 3 page note…Give her a hug from me, won’t you? Perhaps it will be message enough…

  5. I was a pallbearer 14 times before I reached 29 years of age. Most of ’em died in car wrecks after midnight. I’ll contribute to the note. Sweet One is a very very intelligent young lady, but, of course you know that.

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