2 More Down the Drain

This week, my self-confidence as a role model for Black men took yet another hit. Two former students of mine were arrested for a laundry list of affronts to society, and here they are, summarized for brevity.

• Genius 1 and Genius 2 decided to rob a credit union. Apparently they were manifesting a horrible interpretation of the phrase "run on the money."
• Genius 1 and Genius 2 fled from the scene without money but with cops on their tails.
• Genius 1 wrecked the car, so both Geniuses--or Genii, maybe--had to flee from the cops on foot.
• Genius 1 was discovered hiding under a car. So much for kujichagulia.
• Genius 2 fled into a home and wielded? brandished? waved with frenzied intensity? his knife at the home owner. Somewhere in there Genius 2 decided to flee elsewhere.
• Genius 2 entered another home, the humble domicile of a 79 year-old woman. Somewhere in there she dies of a heart attack, and somewhere in there Genius 2 flees that house as well.
• Genius 2 was apprehended before he could hurt himself or anyone else.

Good thing I'm a positive role model. With mentoring like this don't let me talk someone down from a ledge.

Predictably, as these were two brothers clearly breaking the law (cake with thick icing) with an elderly White woman dying in the process (sprinkles and cherries on the cake) the system has easily characterized them as animals, hoods, monsters, thugs--and why not? I mean, how would you feel if your mom was scared to death--literally--by a home invasion instigated by a brother with locs? Can you say "screwed?" Listen to me as I say it: SCREWED!

And no, Jackson or Sharpton won't touch anything this radioactive.

And these weren't the only two former students who drove me to introspection and whiskey after stoop-asst exploits of Stupidity on Ice. To wit: one is in prison for a long time, kidnapping and robbery; one hung himself in jail--he once was one of the school's tough guys; one suffocated his girlfriend and tossed her body in a trash bin; one, never a fan of context clues, shot and killed himself with his own gun--he didn't know it was loaded; one went down after DEA stormed Nana's house and confiscated soon-to-be-trafficked cocaine; one was driving a car-jacked auto, fled the police, rolled the vehicle, almost killing his passengers--what are friends for?--tapped into that spidey sense and hid from the cops, only to turn himself in once he realized his unconscious co-conspirator was still in the vehicle; one shot his girlfriend in the heart--ironically enough, the fake platinum bling she was wearing blocked the bullet and saved her life; one is doing time for vehicular homicide--running into a pedestrian in a car-jacked auto, all the while wearing his police tether on his ankle.

The rest is a lengthy collage of "typical" wanna-be tough guys: assault, drug possession, home invasion, tresspassing, weapons to school, yada yada yada.

Did I tell you I teach in the inner city? Did I tell you that my school is a math/science magnet school, with AP and IB courses? Oh, the irony!

Don't you just love teaching in the inner city?

"The Lord is my shepherd..." If this weren't the case I'd take this personally. If this weren't the case I'd relapse into my profanity-rich yesteryears and rant, "What the eff were the two mofo dumb donkeys n-words think they were doing? Eff these effin dumb donkey mofo n-words!"

But I'm a changed man. I now simply say: "Dang! What a waste of time! Two more down the drain!"

The All-Too-Avoidable Tasing

It’s easy for many Blacks to assume the victim posture whenever an “innocent, hard-working, joy-filled, wouldn’t harm a fly” brotha is tased, either during or immediately after some crime has been committed. It would be simple to deried the actions of cops and utter the cry of “electrical sanctioned lynching” or “tased while black” or other myopic nonsense. But here’s the truth, harder and colder than the coroner’s table at the morgue: Follow rules, or get tased.

Now, who can’t remember that? Oh yeah: Felonious, belligerent brothas.

Hint: If you pretend that you’re deaf, you may receive a 50,000 volt hearing aid for your troubles.

Another hard truth: These tasings provide black humor for those such as myself who are normally repulsed by the low comedy of Megroes. We laugh because in our minds these Megroes deserve every farad of capacitance, every volt of electricity that taser has to offer. They deserve it because we’re tired of Megroes ruining the quality of our lives with their doggerel, their out-dated coonery, their incivility. So when they are tased, we think back to all the times they’ve driven through our hoods at night cranking Soulja Boy at 100 decibels at 2 AM and we exclaim and laugh internally, “Well, you wanted our attention, so here it is!”

To all of the cops who righteously tase: Continue to keep the good work up! I’m with you all the way! Keep the laughs coming! Try to tase them until their pants actually come up above their waist! Try to tase their braids out! Tase 'em to a diploma!

A Detroit buddy of mine, a cop, recently dealt with a Megro the old-fashioned way: 9 mm bullet to the head. Trust me: there’s no entertainment value there. Only brutal resolution.

Lead in one hand, ‘lectricity in the other! Both are excellent conductors in their own right.

I’m not saying this to be serious—this is cynical venting here…I don’t wish death upon anyone—but you have to admit there are some glaring common denominators involved here, and it isn’t the seeming sainthood of ghetto-gone-bad brothas, either. In many of these cases, it’s the celestial convergence of some many secret pinings: spectators thoroughly enjoy the timeless entertainment value of the kinetic Megro getting a 50,000 volt lesson in listening comprehension; a tasee with a life-long death wish being granted one; the actuality of Megroes who have been getting away with metaphorical murder actually being drawn closer to death; weed, alcohol and drugs; cops who have to endure the manure from human debris as a job description finally having a moment of catharsis; frustrated citizens and family members seeing the regrettable yet long-awaited egress of a bad person from their private worlds.

If this isn’t win-win, nothing is.

As a teacher, I instruct young people daily in ways to prevent being tased, but you know “urban” kids! Gotta have the last word; he ain’t my daddy—my daddy don’t even tell me what to do; watch me I’m gonna fight back; he bed’not tase me. And so on.

Two recent tasings in NC involved brothas. The first brotha, naturally, predictably, was characterized as a hard-working, fun-loving young man getting his life together. It was only after we see video of this Ghandi shoving a display rack behind the manager’s counter and throwing an umbrella at them do we see a more accurate picture of this peacemaker. The footage was entertaining, but we never saw the tasee writhing on the floor from the effects of the taser. He left with a police officer; he was tased; he later died.

They also found weed on him, but that’s not important.

The second incident began at a Food Lion, when a brotha tried to leave the store with a cart full of food. Hundreds of people do just that, but this brotha was "offended" when his debit card didn’t work. So instead of leaving the cart he worked so hard to fill, he felt it necessary to take it with him.

Now what’s so unreasonable about that, Food Lion? Ya’ll always effin with a brotha!

When the unfeeling, unsympathetic officers caught up with the brotha, lo and behold, he was carrying an Applebee's gift card from the store that hadn't been paid for! Will cops stop setting up brothas for crime they didn’t commit? I mean, after all, the brotha left the food cart in tha parking lot for goodness sake!

The brotha was booked for, well, breaking the law and it was somewhere in there, that nebulous grey area of opportunity that brotha became “physically aggressive and was communicating loudly.” After all, isn’t it a birthright for brothas to “swell up” at the po-po?

That's when the po-po tased brotha to get him “back under control.” Brotha never fully recovered from the incident and later died in a local hospital

Of course you realize the duality of this brotha before it’s even mentioned. 1) Previous record(s) and 2) His family maintains an alternate image of this brotha.

1) Previous records: Jailed previously – mostly on charges such as possessing marijuana—there’s that weed again, simple assault and misdemeanor larceny, all of which were dropped by a district attorney, according to court documents. In 1999 and again in 2000, he was found guilty of violating a domestic violence protective order. In 2006, he pleaded guilty to driving while impaired, documents show.
2) Alternate image: “He was a very happy, joyful person – the life of the party type of person who lit up a room when he walked in,” said his uncle, Jerry Moore. “Whether he used or had used substances, we don't know.” Davidson's family said they weren't aware of him using or having a problem with drugs or alcohol

So what are some of the rules of engagement?

Rule #1: When the police—you know, the one holding up the law, the one with a baton, pepper spray, Glock and the law on his side—professionally ask you to stop doing something, just stop doing it! I mean, really, how hard is that? Yes, this includes cursing, kicking, swinging wildly, urinating and biting.

Rule #2: If you plan to get high, stay at home, otherwise you are just begging to get tased!

Rule #3: If you have a criminal record, understand you’re a walking taser candidate already. You’re on borrowed time. Plan around this by having pictures of you looking civilized readily accessible for your funeral program. This goes further than pictures of you standing with your crew flashing signs while smoking a blunt with your baby mama. The civilized picture would actually evoke pity.

Rule #4: Don’t utter certain switch phrases like “I ain’t goin’ out like no punk” or “f--- ya’ll m-----f---- police” or “why don’t you make me spread my legs.”

Rule #5: If you have “locs” and you’re wearing a beater, and you’re saggin’ see rule #3 for the endgame.

Rule #6: If you’re attending or have graduated from an alternative high school, you need to know you’re not actually living in an alternate universe. See Rule #5 for your projected endgame.

Here’s a lesson for those with half a brain: Do what cops ask you to do THE FIRST TIME and watch your taser potential decrease dramatically.

Here’s my tase’ potentially: The probability of me having a one-night stand with Halle Berry, Serena Williams and Sanaa Latham, with Vivica Fox giving me a reach-around. Got that?

A less carnal example here: The probability of Fox News actually being Un-biased in its reporting.

So you see, as an bald, overweight, law-abiding, God-fearing church-going, college degree having, 43 year-old father of three school teacher with an employable name not made because “it sounds pretty,” who actually works for a living, who understands cause-and-effect, who has listening comprehension, who thinks that most rappers are idiots getting paid for idiocy, who doesn’t smoke Black and Mild or drink liquor from a goblet in public, who doesn’t engage in conspicuously loud public conversations laced with profanity while Bluetoothing in a movie theater, who doesn’t drive a Cutless on 26-inch rims while cranking “lick my lollipop,” my chances of getting tased are extremely low.

In a phrase: Nerds don’t get tased.

But as a Black man, my low tase’ potential is much higher than my White male counterpart. Because I have half a brain, I won’t forget that. Ever.

Independence Day, huh?

I know, I know, I know: another predictable rant about how the 4th of July ain't the Independence Day for Blacks and that "we didn't land on Plymouth Rock...Plymouth Rock fell on us" and Juneteenth is really a day of independence for Blacks.

Yes. Yes it is--but this time, this year, just to illustrate the leagues to which we must go to at least acknowledge harmful residuals of prejudice and racism and that color STILL AND ALWAYS WILL MATTER, we have the Obamathon to consider.

But first, Sherman: Let's hop in the Wayback Machine to 1995, the Simpson Verdict. Clearly, clearly the ignored and ill-acknowledged "issue of race" reared its ugly head. OJ was found not guilty; loosely speaking, most Whites unraveled while most Blacks rejoiced--per the impetus of the media machine. Naturally, those who videotaped thses responses had a hint as to what they would capture on film, else, why would they wait in anticipation for nothing to occur?

And of course, all of this came in the wake of Rodney King, the seeming victim of police brutality. When that verdict was read, most Blacks unraveled while most Whites rejoiced--per the impetus of the media machine. When riots broke out in the wake of the verdict, Whites were appalled by the "violence" while Blacks "understood the need for kenetic protest."

Race still matters.

And don't make me bring up Susan Smith, please. "A Black man carjacked me," she said--and people were quick to believe her and quick to be deceived by this White victim of violence at the hands of a Black hood.

OK, back to Obama.

Remember when the video of Obama Girl, all sexy White blonde of herself, leapt into the public conscious? She stirred all those antebellum fears of a Black man being openly cooed and having easy access to a White woman. Race.

Remember when much ado was made about his middle name, Hussein? Race and religious fearmongering.

Remember Bill Clinton's reference to Obama being similar to anothe presidential candidate from the 80's by the name of...let's see here...oh yeah--JESSE JACKson? Race.

Remember when he was derided for not being "Black" enough by other Blacks? Race.

Remember the NY art exhibit with blown-up--excuse the horrible pun, here--male genetalia and a poster with him and his daughters entitled "Nappy headed hoes?" Race.

I remember these things--recent history, really--and it stifles if not totally nullifies any desire to celebrate July 4 as Independence Day. I call it the National Barbeque over the Irony Day. I call it the Glad I Don't Have to Work Today holiday. I call it the Gee I Hope I Don't Get Shot While Watching Fireworks in Detroit holiday.

But July 4 will always have a muted meaning to me until America loses more of her affinity to attack Blacks indirectly based on the color of their skin.

And Obama has a long way to go to win the presidency.

Will he be the first president of the United States to be called n----- at a state dinner?

That would be worth $2500 a plate to hear and see that!

Have you noticed a spike in school-related mayhem lately? Have you been inundated with sordid tales of fights between teachers and students being uploaded to various websites? Have you forgotten the school girls who "jumped" on 1 classmate to teach her a lesson? Have you heard about the latest "Columbine-esque" plot foiled before the tragedy could repeat itself? Have you heard about the teacher in Michigan being attacked by 3 male students because they were told to leave the rest room?

As a high school teacher living this reality each day, I'm drawn to the prescient lament of one GrandMaster Flash: "It's like a jungle sometimes/it makes me wonder/how I keep from goin' under." After all, why would you become a teacher if you didn't have to?

Two teachers documented some--roughly a tenth--of the realities of being a teacher in an "urban" district considered to be one of the best in the nation. I was one of those teachers. The book is entitled Thoughts & Lamentations of Urban Education, by The MAC Phoundation. T&L is a poetic narrative of daily happenstances of those in the trenches of education in the '08. It doesn't merely document school violence; it examines the self-destructive motivations and counterproductive tendencies of our youth, tendencies which undermine the best of efforts from teachers to teach and students to learn. Through the use of sarcasm, witty observations and humerous scenarios--such as the fight between girls pulling each other's weave apart--readers are given a Ground Zero perspective of life as a teacher. Here's an excerpt highlighting one of the most senseless hindrances to education: dealing with needless preoccupation with attire.

"Best Dressed Test"

“Sean John, Rocca Wear, & Air Force Ones”

Education is second, this can’t be undone.

“Do I look fresh, do I look fly?

Do I have my homework? WHY?

I come to school for a fashion show

Learning comes second, don’t you know?

I get suspended and get new shoes,

Come back to school dressed brand new.

My community is poor, but you can’t tell,

I have a wardrobe that passes, it could never fail.

I get A’s & B’s in the school of the hood.

I don’t need a proper education that ain’t no good.

‘Sit up straight, no talking, & pass this test.’

The only test I’m concerned with is The Best Dressed.

BET, MTV, & VH1 teach me what I need to know.

School teaches ABC’s; the streets show me how to get dough.

Me and my peeps teach The Generation & The Nation,

SO I PROUDLY WELCOME YOU TO MY URBAN EDUCATION."

Here's some Ghetto Haiku:

Rooms

I walk into class

Saw a cockroach eating-fest

All in my book-bag!

Section 8

Government helps me

Now my kids don’t know real life

Thanks 4 free money!

Speech

Da way black folk talk

You can’t understand one word.

How ghetto is you?

Hood

I stay in the hood

Gun shots flying left to right

I run for my life.

Lesson on Irony:

Trap (or die!) Coat

It’s called a Trap Coat

Cuz it’s how I live

It’s called a Trap Coat

Cuz it’s where I live

It’s called a Trap Coat

Cuz it keeps me hot

It’s called a Trap Coat

Cuz it’s all I got

It’s called a Trap Coat

Cuz it’s orange inside

To keep all the hood rats

Close to my side

It’s called a Trap Coat

With a orange liner

To match the jumpsuit

Of the prison 5-to-Niner

It’s called a Trap Coat

Cuz it keeps me ghetto-minded

Never seeing the trap

And who’s behind it

It’s called a trap coat

And they’re flying off the shelves

Barely keeping up with how

We eagerly trap ourselves…

And naturally, burnt out teachers:

"30, Lookin' 50"

Marlboro Lights and Tanqueray:

Vices that get me through the day

Enthusiasm low, blood pressure high

Eyes are red because eyes ever cry

Daily headaches before second hour

But Tylenol makes my stomach sour

Kids only come to my class to play

My lovely brown is now turning gray

My AP knows my classes are wild

Leaving gum and urine on the ceiling tile

Yet none of my classes are never changed

They remain disrespectful and un-rearranged

In 2 more weeks, I’m leaving this school

For good. That’s my new Golden Rule:

Screw these kids these principals too.

My teaching days are over—I’m through!

Hello summer of “One Life to Live”;

Good-bye Urban—you can have these kids!

Now,

Back to my Marlboro Lights and Tanqueray!

T&L runs the gamut of frustrations and emotions of urban education told through the eyes of teachers. Thoughts & Lamentations of Urban Education is available at Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and other online stores. It may be previewed at Lulu.com; the first 30 pages of the book are available to read.

Finally, please go to http://www.macphoundation.com/ to learn more about the little book making a big difference one awakened student at a time.

The (Nasty) Gloucester HS Situation

Subtitle: No Longer a “Those People” Issue

Ask yourself a question: Why is there sudden outrage over 17 pregnant short-sighted girls at GHS?

Do you remember when only “those people” did certain things? “Those people” was the code phrase for Blacks, of course.
I remember when only “those people” allowed certain drugs to override mature sensibilities such as paying utility bills and practicing safe sex. Crack was, is a beast! But like many other destroyer of worlds, he had a girl friend: Crystal Meth—and poof! Now those other people had a similar enemy of the state.
I remember when only “those people” were and remained on welfare. Eventually, national statistics showed that there were more other people utilizing welfare than “those people.”

Pop goes another philosophical weasel.

I remember when only “those people” sagged and listened to rap music. I remember when I was periodically classified as one of “those people.” That designation was not of my behest but the full opinion of those who chose and still choose to highlight the self-destructive exploits of Blacks, codify them and elevate them to the status of Full Religion.

I remember, as a native Detroiter, being referred to as “the exception” whenever I did something socially or academically prodigious. At the very least, as a high school graduate from the (then) Murder Capital, where 1 out of 17 Black males did not live to see the age of 18, I felt blessed, not prodigious, and certainly not “the exception.” But all it took was for me to break dance or use slang or give dap or wear athletic gear in view of certain Whites for me to receive the “one of those people” looks which were simultaneously condescending and condemning.

I remember, as a college graduate, being reminded of my station in life even after escaping the dire circumstances of Detroit via education and opportunity. I remember needing over four months to close on my first mortgage, and with outstanding credit and stable job history as the foundation of my application, I realized that my application was not FHA but FTP: For Those People.

I remember, as an employee for Northwest Airlines, when I was transformed from “Gino, the amiable co-worker” to “one of those people” immediately after the verdict was delivered at the end of the OJ Simpson trial. And yes, it was an unwanted, unnecessary reminder that I would forever be, in the eyes of too many people “one of those people.” And yes, every Black-on-Black crime, every Black teen pregnancy, every Black child support issue, every fatherless Black child, every Black taser recipient was a reminder—not from me, mind you, but from “other” people—that I remain “one of those people.”

So today, to remove the illusion of misinterpretation, I announce that I am one of those people, proudly. Of course, I am one of those people who realize that people of all colors and creeds can bring ignobility to the human race. The good news: People who knee-jerk the verbal reflex “one of those people” are also one of those people. The bad news: These people fail to realize shared commonality of humanity, and as a result trip over their own loaded language in a feeble effort not to sound like Archie Bunker.

At last: Enter the nasty GHS “situation,” the latest example of yet another deferred denial by those other people gone utterly Hindenburg. What makes this situation interesting to me and other those people is trying to meter the level and quality of the outrage from other people. Are they truly rapt in the throes of sincere umbrage at the latest group gag from today’s girls or are they disillusioned because they, like me, remember when only those people had conspicuous, prideful, out-of-wedlock and incredibly near-sighted pregnancies.

There seems to be, at last, some furor over the actuality of 17 high school girls being pregnant at the same time. I can only cynically say that this would be a non-issue if these were 17 Black girls in Detroit—or 17 Latinas in Los Angeles, for that matter. This wouldn’t even make the rounds of conservative television as it would only bolster already indefatigable beliefs that this is expected behavior from those people.

So, let’s examine the issue at hand. Get the popcorn.

Let’s consider the given information:
1. Consider the setting: Gloucester, Massachusetts, located within the picturesque seaside confines of Cape Ann.
2. Consider the demographics: Town of about 30,000 residents, predominantly White, Catholic, blue-collar.
3. Consider the economy: A fishing industry diving faster than the anchors meant to do such on the high seas. Why? Simple: The fishing jobs have gone, no pun intended, overseas.
4. Consider the words from School Superintendent Christopher Farmer: “Families are broken. Many of our young people are growing up directionless."
5. Consider the scenario: Teenagers, wanting to become adolescent mothers so they could all raise their out-of-wedlock babies together, make a pact to work toward reaching said objective. Out of a student body of around 1,170 students (http://gloucesterschools.com/report_cards/GHS_rpt_card_2008.mht), the girls were successful in more than quadrupling the number of expecting adolescent mothers in one year.
6. Consider the extent of individual motivation: "We found out one of the fathers is a 24-year-old homeless guy," said Principal Joseph Sullivan.
7. Consider the philosophical climate: Amid self-actualized students, junior ROTC, athletes and cheerleaders, teen parents are encouraged to take their children to a free on-site day-care center. “We're proud to help the mothers stay in school," says Sue Todd, CEO of Pathways for Children, which runs the day-care center.
8. Consider a sophomoric lament from Kacia Lowe, a classmate of expected mothers: "No one's offered them a better option."
9. Consider ironic perspective/advice: Amanda Ireland, who graduated from Gloucester High on June 8, recalled sporadic benedictions and accolades from some of the now pregnant schoolmates. Ireland states, "They're so excited to finally have someone to love them unconditionally. I try to explain it's hard to feel loved when an infant is screaming to be fed at 3 a.m."

So, in brief: We have a White town with a highly publicized issue once thought to be the exclusive resident among those people. The question is, are other people over the situation at hand at its face value or are other people upset that the situation simply and easily cannot be placed at the laps of those people?
Let’s expand on some aforementioned talking points:

1. Consider the setting: Gloucester, Massachusetts, located within the picturesque seaside confines of Cape Ann. There’s not a lot of “urban” issues to apply here. Gloucester—insert understatement here—is not Harlem, NY; Gary, IN; Detroit, MI; Flint, MI; Chicago, IL; East St. Louis, IL; Houston, TX; Los Angeles, CA—you get the picture! Not the expected locale arena for this type of 12-play.
2. Consider the demographics: Town of about 30,000 residents, predominantly White, Catholic, blue-collar. Not a lot of those people around on which to blame this shameful situation. This is all GLOUCESTER.
3. Consider the economy: A fishing industry diving faster than the anchors meant to do such on the high seas. Why? Simple: The fishing jobs have gone, no pun intended, overseas. I recall similar actualities from my hometown, Detroit, before it went from Mo-Town to No-Town thanks to auto-related jobs going overseas and to Mexico and to South America. I recall how other people told me that loss of job market wasn’t a mitigating circumstance to forego common decency. Funny how the script is flipped when it applies to other people.
4. Consider the words from School Superintendent Christopher Farmer: “Families are broken. Many of our young people are growing up directionless." Farmer was later quoted in the WBZTV article saying that these are generally "girls who lack self-esteem and have a lack of love in their life… the common threat is the lack of self-esteem and purpose in life, and a lack of a sense of direction…young women wanting and needing affection." Is that all? Well, that’s what Aisha and Shaquisha needed in the hood—but I almost forgot! Until The Nasty 17, it was only a problem among those people.
5. Consider the scenario: Teenagers, wanting to become adolescent mothers so they could all raise their out-of-wedlock babies together, make a pact to work toward reaching said objective. Out of a student body of around 1,170 students (http://gloucesterschools.com/report_cards/GHS_rpt_card_2008.mht), the girls were successful in more than quadrupling the number of expecting adolescent mothers in one year. Statistically speaking, without knowing but two names—Amanda and Kyla—that these are probably White girls doing what was long considered a “those people” activity.
6. Consider the extent of individual motivation: "We found out one of the fathers is a 24-year-old homeless guy," said Principal Joseph Sullivan. Random disgusting sex with nameless sex partner: No longer an exclusive vest-patch activity of “those people.”
7. Consider the philosophical climate: Amid self-actualized students, junior ROTC, athletes and cheerleaders, teen parents are encouraged to take their children to a free on-site day-care center. “We're proud to help the mothers stay in school," says Sue Todd, CEO of Pathways for Children, which runs the day-care center. In communities of those people, this type of schooling is, well, alternative education. Shh! Don’t tell the other people!
8. Consider a sophomoric lament from Kacia Lowe, a classmate of expected mothers: "No one's offered them a better option." Teachers and administrators trying to produce graduates; the Catholic church providing spiritual guidance; colleges being positioned to issues degrees to qualified candidates; keeping your legs closed until marriage or at least graduation—nope! Not one better option offered to these poor girls! For shame!
9. Consider ironic perspective/advice: Amanda Ireland, who graduated from Gloucester High on June 8, recalled sporadic benedictions and accolades from some of the now pregnant schoolmates. Ireland states, "They're so excited to finally have someone to love them unconditionally. I try to explain it's hard to feel loved when an infant is screaming to be fed at 3 a.m." Not fully explored in the Time article but touched upon in the WBZTV article is the seeming disingenuous nature of Ireland’s comments regarding The Nasty 17. This occurred when Ireland reflected on her own adolescent pregnancy. Ireland said, "I don't call it a mistake because the way I look at is everything happens for a reason. But, no, she was not planned." So it would appear that Ireland, as ruefully distraught as she may have been characterized in the Time article, is really a precursor to The Nasty 17. In case you missed that, catch this: Ireland will be godmother to one of The Nasty 17’s offspring. How’s that for closure—or is it sad irony?

I offer this open opinion piece as a challenge to bored people everywhere. Watch the dialogue concerning The Nasty 17 over the next few weeks. Try to determine if the cumulative disgust, disappointment and disdain is from the fact that this was an activity facilitated not by the descendants of those people, but by the sequestered descendants of other people. If you happen to meet one of the other people, gently inform them that the world affects everyone everywhere. Tell them that as soon as they allow their children unfettered access to technology in order to remain connected (cell phone) globally (Internet) to information (media) of a visual (tv, Youtube) and auditory (MP3) nature they instantly allow equal and opposite influences to infiltrate every life lesson taught to their child. Tell them that this is a derivative of Newton’s Law.

What lessons do I offer, specifically? I believe that the following lessons are already understood if not mastered by sensible, hard-working, God fearing people all over this country.
Lesson #1: Thanks to the media, negative influences can reach every corner of this planet. Therefore, there are no Edens, El Dorados nor Utopias thoroughly connected to today’s world and still totally immune from the pernicious side effects of, at worst, media’s low comedy and at best, life in general.
Lesson #2: Everyone is capable of reaching the nadir or apex of human existence, so don’t get cocky when one of those people do something wayward. Tomorrow offers similar examples of wayward actions from other people, too.
Lesson #3: When you have planned sex, even with protection, there is a chance of pregnancy. The unplanned pregnancy is weak and used to deflect proper blame. To the listener of such blame displacement: ignore it; to the projector of this contrived absolution: it was indirectly planned, so young mother deal with it!
Lesson #4: Review Lessons 1 through 3 as often as necessary.