I miss the days when men were responsible.
A friend of mine married a guy who surprised her by going to prison and losing their paid-for home (bought with her money) for unpaid taxes. She moved into a trailer with her three young sons. I used to have them come on weekends, and I paid them $10 each for one hour of help clearing tree limbs and so on. The real point of doing this was not to get the property in order. It was to help financially, teach the kids how to work, and give them exposure to a reasonably normal adult male who wasn't doing drugs all day and having sex with his clericals in an office their mother paid for.
I wanted to help these boys, but they were awful. While I was working, and their mother was also working to set an example, they would poke the ground with sticks. They would cry. They would say, "Can we be finished now?" They ran from spiders, screaming, "BLACK WIDOW! BLACK WIDOW!"
They did some work and made a certain amount of effort, but it was very bad. I had to keep telling their mother to stop working because they were being paid. I was generally able to do a lot more work by myself than with their help.
One of them asked to be taught how to use the pressure washer. I showed him, with the other two present. He had a really hard time mastering, "Pull the trigger. Push it forward. Move it over. Bring it back." When we were done, I told them to coil the cord up on the machine, and they protested, saying they couldn't figure it out.
I was a lazy fat kid, but I could coil up a hose. And I was capable of work. My grandfather had big farms, and when I visited, I used to help with the cattle. I baled hay. I did whatever he wanted to do. I loved it. I never cried. I never asked if we could quit.
These boys aren't good at anything except using their thumbs to work tablets and play video games on systems frequented by child rapists. When I go to their home, they lie on the floor in the living room in unmade beds, watching Spongebob Squarepants. Three healthy males with nothing to do and an overworked single parent, and a home which is always a mess.
They have a big collection of stuffed animals, which is a creepy thing for boys to have.
They are fundamentally nice kids, but the real world is going to go over them like a steamroller when they leave home. I used to tell them they would eventually have jobs, and their bosses wouldn't put up with standing around doing nothing, crying and begging to be sent home. I told them a real job is 8 hours, not one.
When we quit having our work sessions, I was sad but grateful, because I could finally get some things done, and I didn't have to cajole these kids any more. I would like to see them do well, and I am concerned for them, but their generation seems to be made of woke Jell-O.
Compared to my grandfather and his brothers, these kids are far, far worse than my generation.
