Ahem. Get Hillbilly Mom A Soapbox.

At the lunch table lately, we have been commiserating over the dearth of bright young pupils transferring to Newmentia. Oh, we have transfers. Do we ever. But I can count on one hand--make that one finger--the number of them over the last three years who arrived all bright-eyed and revved up to pursue that magical diploma.

You can't really blame the kids. They are, after all, mostly 16 or younger, barely out of the perambulator, never having been expected to toe the line, take responsibility, have pride in what they achieve, or just plain attend school every freakin' day. Blame the parents who don't want to make the effort to raise them up right. Parents who put themselves first, making the kid an afterthought, or a buddy, or a paycheck. Where else do kids this age learn to drink, smoke, steal, lie, fight, bully, and flat-out just not care? How many of them have been rescued by Grandma, who tries her best, but simply can not keep up with their antics? When Mom's in jail, Dad's in jail, Grandma has to work, the step-units want you out of the way, and you just can't have nice things...what's a kid got to look forward to every day?

People, get rid of the pythons and the Rottweilers and the parrots and the pot and the meth and the pills and make a life for your kid in which he gets some love and attention and no booze or unsupervised parties or even worse, parties with booze hosted by YOU.

We must take back our youth. They're the future, you know!