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The other day there was SHOCKING footage of a teacher spanking a five year old. OH. MY. GOD.  Dan and I saw this on the morning news.  We just looked at each other like WHAT THE HELL ... because we both remembered that when WE WERE KIDS the teacher could beat the shit outta you and so could your parents and NO ONE WAS SUED.  

That all changed during the 1980's.  Children born after 1980, also referred to as "millennial children."  You know, the ones that were pampered every freaking day of their lives and now walk into the workplace demanding free time, work/life balance, big bucks and the ability to work from home in their pajamas.  The problem with this is that they are working for baby boomer bosses whose work ethic and background is radically different.  I, being a baby boomer, understand this all too well.  Unfortunately, my experience in the last 10 years has been a little different because I've had to work for these millennial brats who never learned any manners, courtesy, patience or respect for their elders and think only of themselves.  Quite a conundrum if you're a 53 year old legal secretary and your boss is a 28 year old attorney with malignant narcissism and anger management issues.  These are the kids whose parents pampered, hovered, protected and always rescued them thereby producing a generation of super, coddled spawn who have never learned how to deal with the realities of life because "it's hard out there.  

When I grew up my mom and dad didn't take any lip.  Neither did our teachers.  It was a different world and those in authority demanded respect.  Teachers expected you to shut up and listen or you would get humiliated in class or worse, get a swat.  AND NO ONE SUED THEM.  My 8th grade science teacher Mr. Shiyota (who I hated with such a passion that I used to daydream of ways to kill him and get away with it) once swatted a kid in class.  This kid, Frank, was a gang-banging peewee and probably should have just been sent to the principal's office but I think Mr. Shiyota had a serious sadistic streak and secretly loved instilling corporeal punishment.  Receiving a swat was pretty common but you had to be a real pain in the ass to get one.  Frank was one such pain in the ass.  Mr. Shiyota called him up to the front of the class and in front of everyone took a wooden paddle with holes in it and swung that mother like a baseball bat right on his behind.  It made ME want to cry.  He could have done serious harm, but that is how it was back then.  What teachers got away with with in the 1970's is unheard of today.  If there were no statute of limitations on shame and fear I'd be in litigation right now suing for MILLIONS in pain and suffering!  We baby boomers grew up in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT WORLD.  There were boundaries and you knew not to cross them.  

If you're wondering why we didn't tell our parents the teacher swatted us or yelled at us it is because THE TEACHER WAS GOD.  The teacher represented AUTHORITY and YOU DID NOT QUESTION AUTHORITY.  In my day you'd get a beating at home for getting a beating at school.  Fear of getting in trouble at school and shame at embarrassing your parents ... such things do not exist anymore.  Then the 1980's rolled around and it all changed.  Society became very child oriented which, for those of us born in the "children should be seen and not heard" generation, it was a tad hard to swallow.  

This last generation of kids were raised ... indulged, loved, encouraged, patted, petted, always got a hi 5 and a "good job!" for eating their fucken cereal.  Oy.  Let's go back to my childhood when kids were kids and adults were adults and no one gave a crap how a 10 year old felt. IT BUILT CHARACTER PEOPLE!

1966;  Me, Arnie, Georgie and Eddie sitting on the curb staring at the Sun to see who could do it the longest. After burning our retinas out we decided to have a screaming contest. After three minutes of screaming, Tia Chata comes outside in her house dress, cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffe in the other and screams louder than the four of us together "SHADDUP!!!!!!!" then, taking a drag on her cigarette, she walks back into the house.

NOTE: She didn't think someone had been hurt, run over by a car, or lost an eye. All she knew was that we were bugging the shit outta her and she had HAD IT. These were the moms in the 1960's. They didn't care about about our fragile little egos. If we lost a game and started crying we didn't get medal for "participating" ... a mom would just bark something like "don't be such a crybaby! Go outside and play dammit!" then back in the house she'd go as she took another drag on her cigarette.

And we were okay with that. No one grew up psychologically damaged.
No o
ne was ruined for life. We bounced back just fine and figured out another game to play ... "I know you guys ... let's play parade!" This game consisted of sitting on the curb and clapping every time a car drove down the street. And this was a shitload of fun to us. If our parents were like parents today they would have been gushing and oohing over our brilliant, creative little minds and would somehow turn that into a scholarship to university because the child showed inherent ability to moderate the flow of traffic at different times during the day which would then allow for a psychological profile of not only drivers, but bystanders as well, and then a study would prove that ....*#*@&p)!!!!!  It's so damn insane.

Any of you seen the Super Nanny?  Yet another reality based program that helps parents learn how to parent ... don't even get me started.  I happened to catch an episode once.  The kids in this family ran the entire household and the mom and dad were completely useless. In one unbelievable incident little Johnny was screaming his head off because he wouldn't drink his milk unless he was able to do so while sitting on his dad's shoulders. Next shot:  kid sitting on dad's shoulders calmly drinking his milk.  (Personally, if that had been my kid he wouldn't have a head right now). 

This would NEVER happen at our house.  

Manzanar Avenue, circa 1965.  If one of us didn't want to do something my dad would proceed to take his belt off with a menacing sneer "orale veras!" (translation: you better do what I tell you to do you little bastard or else!) No bargaining, no reasoning, no B.S. You know why?  BECAUSE HE WAS THE DAD AND YOU WERE THE KID. Period. End of story.

I can recall many a madcap chase through the house my mom yelling after me ... "don't run away from me you little shit!For years I thought that was my name.  And forget the world's greatest pitchers ... a Mexican mother sitting on a couch ... my mom could throw a brush and make it round a corner and cock you right on the back of your head.  Swear.  

I don't know what else to say about today's kids.  They grew up to be a bunch of narcissistic brats constantly photographing themselves which I CAN'T STAND.  When I was a kid, or I should say a teenager or young adult, being in love with yourself was considered a fault.  Conceit was not considered self esteem.  It was considered CONCEIT.  


  1. Deb, truer words were never spoken, and I couldn't have said them any better. In fact, I have nothing to add! I grew up with a father who was so scary that when he yelled, the house shook--and I'm not kidding. The neighbourhood kids would run away if he was outside bellowing. He spanked us in front of people, no matter where we were--which I personally don't agree with--but we NEVER misbehaved. We also knew that he loved us and would kill himself for us. He grew up poor and made himself into a physician--put himself through school by working in a factory, a cold storage, and playing pool! He married my "genteel" mother from a "gentle" family and well, you can only imagine. It made for some very interesting dynamics and impact where my brother & I are concerned. I have the same temper as my dad, but have turned it into a comedic routine, because I would have been fired for behaving the way that he did. He was enabled to bellow at anyone around him his entire life--yet everyone loved him and depended on him, and his patients thought that he was God. My grandmother, his mom, was my favourite human being in the world. No nonsense but spoiled me with love and candy and cake. Thus a weight issue all of my life, lol. School was a PTSD memory--picked on as a wee one, verbally abused by those teachers who could get away with everything, and absolute fear that my report card would make my dad wallop me. By grade 4 I was beating up both female & male bullies because if ya didn't, you'd be thrown into a trench and left to die!! I have to say though, that my son, born in 1983, is the most conscientious, responsible, and hard-working kid, and married an amazing young woman who is the same. They have 2 sons, who they don't hesitate to discipline. Why? Because when they were kids, both being raised by single moms, they had to cook, clean, and never got the car unless we said so. That was the reason: "I said so" was the frequent mantra, and I had no guilt about it. Even though I was the behaviour councellor for parents of preschoolers who WERE pampering their kids and letting them control their lives. But, I'll stop now. I loved those days when we played in the traffic. I LOVED the clapping game. OMG. Died of laughter. Yup--we knew how to entertain ourselves, because our parents wouldn't let us in the house anyways, right? xoxoxo

    1. When company would come over my brother would imitate my dad when he was scolding up and crack everybody up. He SHOULD have done stand-up ... there were enough stories to entertain for years!

  2. The "LOOK" that's all it took for me, plus I had the fear of GOD instilled in me at a very early age!

    1. Right?! Once Georgie said "pinche" without knowing what he was saying and my dad picked him up by the collar and throttled him LOL!

  3. I said "Jesus Christ!" once when I was ten and my mom slapped my face so hard, it knocked me out of my chair.
    That's parenting! LOL!
    Of all my kids' friends' parents, I was the most strict. My kids are STILL selfish, entitled assholes at times. I guess that's just compared to our generation though.
    Nice rant. Hats off to you, m'lady!

    1. LMAO!! I say BACK TO THE 60'S DAMMIT!

  4. My childhood was so similar to yours. My mother has a PhD in hairbrush throwing. I can’t tell you how many times I was whipped by a branch my mother broke off the pussy willow bush.

    1. Yeah ... and we turned out FINE. Thanks for commenting!


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So, after my husband told me that I was mean to him I decided to make him his favorite dinner.  Roasted chicken, Stove Top stuffing and corn.  Hearty comfort food.  As you all know, our rule is -- whoever cooks, the other does the dishes.  

After enjoying our meal, and good night of TV, we headed upstairs to bed, BUT ... Danny remained downstairs, went into the kitchen and started doing the dishes!  As I relaxed in bed and heard him clanging the dishes as he did them I almost felt bad for him and contemplated telling him to forget the dishes ... do them tomorrow.  But I didn't.  I felt I had to stick to my guns.  

That morning, Danny was planning to spend the day with a friend at a racquetball tournament.  I was still sleeping as he kissed me good-bye.  I told him to have a good time and thanked him for doing the dishes last night.

When I woke up, THIS is what I found in my sink.  

I only wished I'd taken the picture before all the suds went away.  THIS is how Danny does dishes.  …


Danny has this disgusting habit of brushing his teeth and then rinsing his toothbrush and leaving it ALL WET in the toothbrush thing.  (See photo below.  A roll of toilet paper he sets on the counter like a cup and then sticks his toothbrush in the middle of it) ... what a genius huh?

The point?  Adisgusting, wet toothbrush will collect bacteria and mosquitoes and it's disgusting and filthy.  It drives me crazy.  Does he stop?  NO.  

What you're supposed to do is brush, rinse with HOT water and then DRY THE BRUSH THOROUGHLY ... THEN put it in the toothbrush thing.  IT'S NOT THAT HARD.

And how hard is it to take the yogurt OUT of the plastic bag?

God forbid he break a sweat. 

 Also, he never EVER closes a drawer, a cabinet, or a door ... EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Don't you HATE when your husband makes hamburgers ...

*sigh* ... my life.


An Ode to Viggo
Who knows where or when my love for you began it took me by surprise and filled up my whole life
Some laughed and called me mad but I knew that was sad for love cannot be mocked and Viggo, my world rocked
I've seen his every film, his songs, his poems and still I love him more each day and that's how it will stay  for in my dreams he lives
Each step through ether's door we meet forever more and so shall it remain until my life should wane
- Signed Debbie Nunez Mortensen :) (yes, I know I'm weird)