Y’all Gotta Parent Your Kids Better

I’ve had the privilege? misfortune? one of those, depending what day you catch me on, of teaching for the better part of the last decade. The majority of that time has been spent instructing individuals and groups younger than 18, many of them younger than 12, most of them younger than 10. It’s been…interesting. There are many upsides to junior instruction. Kids are often much more receptive and easier to maleate to your teaching than adults because they don’t come in with preconceived notions they’re testing against everything you tell them. They’re blank slates, clean sponges to absorb the information you give and parrot it back. Their enjoyment of success is more genuine too. I’ve had few rewards in my professional career as wholesome as seeing the look on a kid’s face the first time they hit the shot of their life. So for the most part it’s pretty cool. It’s nice to not have to be so serious at work. My jokes always kill, and it’s definitely more enjoyable to have a conversation about dinosaurs or Fortnite or their dog than to listen to someone treat me as their therapy couch for their work or familial dysfunction. Plus I get to give them back after at most three hours so for as bad as the bad parts get I have a time on the clock to look forward to where they are no longer my responsibility and I can go back to being a childless degenerate. But that brings me to a concerning trend I’ve noticed as my career in instruction has progressed. The bad times are getting much more frequent. Y’all gotta parent your kids better.

When I first started you might have one trouble kid out of an entire summer’s worth of camps who maybe talked too much or was a little too eager to flail a club around like he was hacking brush in the Bornean rainforest. Now, I got at least one agent of chaos in every class, most of the time two or three, and the hell they’re causing would’ve made my rap sheet in high school look like the daily activities list of a Dean’s List prefect. Last year I had to spend a day explaining to one of my classes why it’s not okay to demand to see another person’s butthole (Spoiler: the kid that demanded it, didn’t say butthole. Oh and he didn’t demand it from any of the other 6 boys in the class. Nope, it was to THE ONLY GIRL).

I didn’t sign up to have to deal with that. I got into golf to teach golf, not explain to a bunch of grade schoolers what constitutes sexual harassment and why it’s not acceptable. That’s not my job. That’s y’alls job, y’all being those of you who bore these little crotch fruits. You should be the ones explaining the importance of respecting the sovereignty of other people’s genitals, and I should be the one explaining the importance of a straight left arm in the backswing.

Oh and while you’re teaching little Timmy why it’s not okay to demand viewing access to what’s inside someone else’s pants could you also explain the concept of shutting the hell up while someone is talking? I don’t know what some of y’alls houses are like but from how entitled some of these kids feel to the microphone I imagine it must be closer to a trading floor on Wall St. than a house where civilized people live. I’ve seen reruns of First Take that had less interruptions than my camps.

I’m not going to claim to have any of the solutions to this problem, but I will say based on the pattern I’ve noticed these kids have two major epiphanies, one around 1st-2nd grade when they dip their toes into testing your threats of corporal deterrence and the second between 4th-5th when they’re old enough to fully comprehend you’ve been bullshitting them for the past ten years about whipping their ass. They recognize the emptiness of your threats and just like North Korea to the US they’re throwing everything you’re putting on them right back in your face while I, South Korea, am left to suffer the consequences of your Laissez Faire diplomacy.

Again, as I stated earlier and will state again, I cannot pretend to know the difficulties and rigors of being a parent. I would imagine discipline is largely experimentation, but, I wouldn’t know because the farthest I’ve ever been allowed to venture in the realm of discipline is call a kid’s mom and have her pick him up early because that kid wouldn’t stop cornering a younger boy and kicking him. What I do know though is some of y’all need to get your asses back in the parenting lab. Your current methods of not doing jack shit are having real world detrimental consequences on everyone, regardless of age, that comes into contact with these little heathens. Beat their ass, don’t beat their ass, I honestly don’t care what you do so long as it gets results and I don’t have to keep spending all my time breaking up elementary MMA bouts. Maybe at the next global ParentCon y’all can bring up the possibility of bringing back military and detention academies to just ship your future defendants out of my hair entirely.

If it sounds like I’m taking a thousand words to bitch about how much I hate kids, that’s not the case. I’m taking a thousand words to bitch about how much I hate that my life suffers for the worse because people can’t or won’t handle the consequences of their sex. If I’m compelled to behave so as to not have a massive terrible impact on everyone around me then y’all, especially y’all who are responsible for more than just your own heartbeat, need to do the same. My dog acts better than some of the kids I’ve run across, get it together.

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