See? Someone raised this boy right…

Dance freely and whole-heartedly enough that you make people jealous of your spirit.

Some people ask why I don’t have children. It seems like a logical thing for people to do. Have kids. I adore kids. I get along with them well. Kids usually love me. I make them feel safe and they know they can tell me anything without being judged. I spoil them but I also demand they be decent people. I do not withold my affections because of a single mistake but neither do I excuse bad behaviour, in them or myself. I apologize to kids if I make a mistake because let’s face it, kids need to know an adult is human enough to say I’m sorry.

But there is something inside of me…something left by someone else… that makes me wary of actually raising a child of my own.

This is that something.

For some of us, childhood is something to survive. Some of us that do survive it want to celebrate those that make it a wonderful time to experience. So when you ask me, why I don’t have children, it’s because I can’t give a child the happiness it would deserve but damn it, I will certainly cheer you on as you raise yours right.

A lot of my education happened outside of the classroom. This is probably true of most people who attend a public school in a depressed district. Resources for teachers are poor and oftentimes, you spent more time going over stuff that you learned last year. It’s a lot of catch-up and do you remember? So, how do you learn about the world outside of your little space?

I read.

Problem with learning that way? You don’t hear the words you read. You know what they mean and can recognize them but really, once you have it in your head how something is pronounced, it’s gonna stick.

These mis-speaks lead me to my pet peeve… people who “correct” other people when they speak; either in pronunciation or if their brains farted and their mouth grabbed the first word that popped up… say mallow instead of yellow. If you know what the other person meant*, then there’s no need to correct them. Height of rudeness in my book. So mis-speak all you want around me, have no fear of sounding ignorant because I know what you mean unless I ask.

It’s a sign that you learned about the world and language like I did and Dude, if I had a gang sign I could flash you, I would. ’Cause it’s like we’re Gansta Readas.

Word.

Regardless on how it’s pronounced.

* Okay, there are times when you might really not know what word they’re using, so apologize and ask for clarification if needed. If not, fake it. Pretend you’re having dinner with someone you don’t care for but gotta share a plate with.  No, Bi… we really didn’t know what colahndehr was. :::stuffs you with ddukbokki::::

Sinner’s Gin.

Miki.

But without the neck tattoos. (those are paint in this shot)

Our generation does not ask for Victory in our wars.

We ask for the safe return of those who go to fight them.