This morning I had to wait at a crosswalk with a child clearly possessed by Satan.  The kid had a set of lungs on her and wasn’t at all ashamed to use them.  She just kept on screaming.  Her mom did nothing. 

Now, I like to think I’m enlightened when it comes to child-rearing but this kid was way past a timeout.  She was beggin’ for a beatin’.  If I had pulled that crap at her age my mom would have told me that if I really wanted something to cry about, she’d help me out. 

Remember when moms could smack their kids into submission?  Smack them senseless or unconcious.  Either way you’d end up with a quiet kid.  My mom used to hit me with whatever was nearby.  Brooms, brushes, belts.  Which I guess explains my aversion to sweeping, my short hair and why my pants keep falling down.