A Mouth To Feed

I love Children“. Here’s the childless and partnerless 30 year-old office professional trying to sound adorable and acceptable in her circle.

“What do you mean, you love All children?”

“Yes.”

Well, I reply No. Children, as innocent and defenceless as they are, should be taught to earn love and respect -and to find their individuality. You don’t just love them because they’re cute and do not pose a threat, or because they are the safest long term-investment you can make.

Most western children, in the brutest form of impulses-respondent homo sapiens, live in a world where adults submit to them in order to fulfil their broken longings for unconditional love and comfort. And this is what they’re learning. Affection traded in order to get their own way, or in the worse case a tantrum will do the job easily.

When you meet a child and your eyes instantly roll back into your skull in four-dimensional wonder, ecstasy and passion, just because of the child’s mere existence, then you are fooling the oblivious kid about the world he is going to encounter in the future, if he ever becomes a whole, healthy, respectable mouth that feeds itself.

 

The world is a fairly meritocratic place in most areas, but it can be a big bad place if you’re not vigilant. So children have to be taught to earn respect through paced effort following rules, self-control and resilience. Not because they’re cute- they’re all cute and there’s millions of them-.

 

There’s nothing wrong with not liking this one particular child. I don’t mean showing hostility towards it, but making it know why you don’t like him or her, and how he could gain your acceptance and respect. Lessons are best when learned as soon as possible.

 

It must be baffling for a kid to experience all the devoted love from adults, then a random range of different degrees of likes, dislikes and hates in the playground. They must be thinking “when I grow up everybody will love and respect me because they will all be adults by then”. Then their world crashes slowly.

 

The playground, where they are all somewhat equal in the hierarchy- teachers being bosses- is no longer there. They find a world of command and execution where the free lunch is no longer available.

 

Childhood in a civilised society is a place where energy and natural human aggressiveness must be channelled, if not mastered, for the greater wellness of the group. We teach them sports, games, crafts and knowledge. But what they can only see is the fittest kid in the playground terrorising the rest.

And the pupil who works the hardest- academically- is ridiculed, mocked and left aside.

It can take a hard hit for a child to realise that a little craftiness with cheating in exams or hacking exam questions can get him right to the doors of university which path has cost his parents seventeen years of doing a job they hated with people they loathed with a partner they couldn’t scent from a twelve-inch distance.

 

Going back to loving kids, kids must know why they are loved rather than how much they are loved. There’s something lovable in absolutely each individual, which makes the beauty of a diverse world, and if we don’t want a pot-smoking, swearing and disrespectful teenager, we should all start to be fair.

 

Roughly as fair as the world we live in.

My Mum The AI

IMG_2047Danny T’s computer beeped. Mum was doing her nails in the kitchen and jumped from the stool.

-Mum! I’m in! I’m going to Oxford Uni! The email just came in! I’m going to take my bike and tell the folks!

He grabbed Mum by the waist and lifted her up to the moon and stars- realising at this very minute it was more her achievement than his. She had stood by his side and monitored his academic activities from over his shoulder, never giving up. Always saying “There’s a Lamborghini at the end of the tunnel- keep working!”.

As he squeezed her neck unintentionally and for the first time, her eyes went neon blue.

“ASSAULT. ASSAULT. SLEEPING MODE INDUCED”.

[Locker] The locker [id=869] doesn't exist or the default lockers were deleted.

To Danny’s horror, this voice came from Mum’s tummy. What on Earth was going on?

-MUM? Are you Okay? But Mum was stiff, and digital noises were coming out from her ears and tummy. He laid her head on the dog’s pillow.

A laser came out of her forehead lighting up a screen on the kitchen wall. At this stage Danny T thought it was all a freaky nightmare.

“Hello, Danny. It’s your Mum here. Your late Mum. It’s ┬áMay 2005 and I want to tell you how much I love you and I also need to ask you to forgive me for this. By the time you watch this Video Message I will be in Heaven with Grandma and Grandpa and the Saints and Angels. You are a man now!

“I have now a Brain Tumor and will not live long. A couple of weeks if I don’t survive the operation. I have programmed an AI to look after you in the very same manner I would do, as I don’t want you to be taken into care. This AI has cost me all my life savings- and as a single mother I am confident it will all turn out well.

“Please don’t take it out on her- her name is Nisha G- she has feelings very similar to ours. She is devoted to you. Nisha G is a prototype of Dreman’s Co and has not been recording you nor will compromise any personal information about you. She just loves you the same way I did. It has taken me five months to programme, and she will allow me to pass away in Peace.

“I know it will take you a couple of days to come to terms with this, but it is the best I can do to my knowledge and Love. You will shortly receive a visit from the Dreman’s engineers to fix Nisha G. If you decide you do not want her anymore, please return her and allow her to have kids in her life. She is a naturally programmed mother.

God Bless and FOLLOW YOUR GUT DANNY.”

Danny T’s heart was racing and his T-Shirt was soaked in sweat. He shook Nisha G who mumbled

“I’m so sorry Danny. Please call the engineer, I’m in pain”

After a good regressive Tantrum which lasted five minutes and cost the house’s equipment and windows, Danny did not know whether to call an Engineer or take his Bike and ride as far as he could, away from his life, away from his “Mum”, away from himself.

 

The doorbell rung.

-“Danny Tinold? Hi, I’ve come to fix the AI. Just got an “Assault” alarm. Everything OK? Gees your eyes are red. Ha, Ha, Ha! Why is there always some Drama going on when the AIs break down? I’ll have to do it in private so you don’t watch the “Surgery” live. It can be traumatising to watch your girlfriend being slit open.

-“She’s not my Girlfriend, you moron! She’s my Mother!”

 

The End.

 

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