In case you haven’t heard,
an organization called One Million Moms (OMM) has got its flesh-toned,
98-percent-nylon-2-percent-lycra granny panties with the lace waistband
all bunched up inside its uber-tight butt crack.
The thing is, I don’t want my daughter’s choices, opportunities, identity, sense of belonging and self-worth -- and those of her black brothers and sisters in this country -- to be dictated by the pseudo-educated, pale-faced Baby Drummonds of the world.
I needed to know how much it would take before I would
budown the house and walk away forever. I needed to see if Mr. McGee
(not his real name) could actually be a responsible adult and drop his
kid at the house at 11:30 a.m. on party day. And so: The call.
It turns out that, when your child goes to a school being
slowly devastated, like so many others, by the decisions of people who
prioritize war and the interests of a few rich folks, you’ll do some
crazy stuff to preserve what little quality there is left in her public
I won’t laugh at you or make snarky remarks about the
slow process of decline that is about to engulf you like a novice
snowboarder caught unawares and goofy-foot in an avalanche. Because,
truth be told, there is little to laugh about at this juncture.