Every piece the New York Times publishes, that is about children, childrens’ rights, the exploitation of children, child trafficking, is done by a writer who at the very least, sounds like a very nervous amateur. It is hardly safe for me to say the Mommy America Suburban Stuff (consumer culture) has had everyone else pussy whipped. Property is everything you need to begin to compete with every other mommie on the block. Our garage only fits two cars and one truck and eight off the road vehicles, and a dirt Bike. We were going to have a pool but then we had a pool. Childhood is relative. It is also a fetish painted nice for another mommy’s smile. I know that look.

After all, we live in the same neighborhood. Childhood becomes a paradigm and there are rules. Your son will targeted for a concussive event. Get the fuck back in that game. That’s childhood. Are they really going to be ballerinas. Some wear diapers. It shows. The New York Times doesn’t know Jack Shit about kids. All of us do not live on Long Island, and some of us, and the children of us, not that unlike the Children of the Vatican you tourists completely ignore which seems to be your answer to everything. Their arrival in America is not their fault. They have landed in a country where everyone hates them. They are more at risk for everything from everyone.

There are still children in institutions who were, indeed, ripped from the family’s arms. Those arms cannot be replaced. What we have done with those children is criminal. The middle class guards who physically grabbed those kids – we were just doing our jobs – would not refuse to turn the shower poison on. They would have relished it. Just doing their jobs. Fuck your jobs. And fuck you.

These kids will be aging out. Sooner than you think. And then what. How about those prisons still at the Guantanamo Bay detention center. They will be interrogated, you never know who the communists are. Order in the house. Order in the House. Mr. Chairman, I move that these communist children go take a long shower. It smells bad in here. The South shall ride again. Mr. Chairman, I hold that these charges cannot be real. 

I did teacher training for Head Start in my abandoned youth. Hundreds of them. All women. Every last one. Suddenly, I go off like a bomb because I am the worst brat in the class and everyone knows it. Horrified and staring. This is not how teacher trainers act.

“Give me a name. What is the name of this child. He is in every class. You know him. You hate him. What a verbal and physical mess. No parenting.”

This is where the suggestions begin. He’s going to prison. It has been decided.

Everyone white nods.

I want their names. Raise your hands.

They all had names. One girl. She had a name, too.

The entire family works the midnight shift at the slaughterhouse. The twelve-year-old pushed blood down a drain. Failing in school.

No. We are failing him.

I want to know why the mommies don’t deal with this. Deal with this. – Tim Barrus