Last week I took my ten and a half‑year‑old
daughter, Joy, to Wild Adventures in Valdosta, Georgia, for a special overnight
mother‑daughter trip. After spending the
night in a comfortable hotel, we arrived shortly after opening at 10:30 in the
morning with hot Georgia sunshine beating down and wet, humid air soaking our
skin. As we lathered on the sunscreen and headed toward the gated entrance, I
hoped there would be lots to do besides get sick on roller coasters rides. We
were already dripping with perspiration by the time we got to the water park.
At Splash Island we found a haven from the
heat and climbed up the voluminous steps to ride on the Kalani Blasters, two
sets of slides that intertwined and lasted thirty seconds, dumping the rider
into a large, cool pool at the bottom. As Joy and I waited our turn in the long
line at the top holding an oversized inner tube, a little boy who couldn't have
been much older than three forced his way through the crowded line and
positioned himself at the top of the open flume. He wanted to be the next rider
down.
I looked around and thought to myself, where
is this kid's parent? What is he doing cutting in line? I wasn't
sure whether to speak up as I was in shock at his boldness to ignore all the
others waiting patiently ahead of him. After several seconds when it was
obvious he wasn't leaving, several politely spoke to the young boy, "You
must wait your turn. You can't break in line like that."
The same sentence was repeated to him
several more times. I added my few words, too, just to support the others who
had already spoken. The boy just stood there.
The park attendant who had been monitoring
the flume looked up and saw what had happened. He spoke loudly to the young
boy, "You must go to the back of the line. You must wait your turn."
Everyone gently encouraged him to leave
but he continued to ignore us. I looked around for his parents again who were
no where. He had brought the entire procession of sliding down the open flume
to a complete halt as he stood there defying the world.
Finally,
the little boy got the point that nobody in the line was going to let him break
in front. He dejectedly headed to the back to wait his turn.
I
said to Joy, "He might be cute, but he's not that cute." We all
looked at each other thinking the same thing. Something is missing from this
picture—the parent.
Later
that afternoon, when Joy and I had our full of the water, we headed over to the
dreaded roller coasters. While Joy enjoyed getting dizzy and spinning and being
centrifuged to oblivion—after all, she is a gymnast—I held on and tried not to
die. My stomach screamed even louder. Fortunately I did survive to live another
day.
Our
final event was the Gold Rush, a smaller, family-sized roller coaster which Joy
talked me into riding. I hope it will be my last one. Of course, I said that the last time at
Disney when she talked me into experiencing the Expedition Everest at Disney's
Animal Kingdom. I will spare you the bodily details on that one. If you are
curious, you can watch it on YouTube—the full three minutes and eighteen
seconds worth.
I
stepped through the car of the Gold Rush and exited out the other side to place
our personal belongings in a holding compartment. As I returned to my spot
behind Joy, two wide‑eyed blond‑headed young girls were sitting in my seat.
All
the other cars were full and everyone was waiting for me. I spoke to the little
girls who might have been about eight years old, "You have taken my seat.
You will have to wait till the next time to ride. My daughter is in front of
you and I'm riding this with her."
They
stared at me but refused to budge.
So
I tried again. "I was setting our belongings in the storage compartment.
You need to let me have my seat back."
Unflinching
they continued to stare. Joy stared, too.
I
said it again, this time a little louder. By this time I had gained everyone's
complete, undivided attention and felt all eyes glued on me, but I wasn't going
to give in.
"I'm
sorry, but you have taken my seat. That is my daughter in front of you and I am
riding with her."
Then
one of the little girls yelled at me, "You mean you're not going to let me
ride with my sister?"
"No,
I am not." I glanced over at the other people waiting impatiently, one
lady in particular. Are those her kids, I wondered? Nobody came to my
rescue. I said it again more loudly, "You are in my seat. I was putting my
stuff over here and you need to get out of my seat."
Finally,
they reluctantly got out. The Gold Rush ride attendant walked over and seemed
to be happy that the confrontation had ended peacefully without his becoming involved.
Then
he added, "And you can't ride the Gold Rush with only a swimming suit top.
You must have a shirt on." The girls glared at him disgustedly and
promptly walked away.
I
took my seat and enjoyed the easy ride thinking about the famous comedian,
Rodney Dangerfield, who used to say, "I get no respect."
After
the Gold Rush roller coaster ended, the young lady who had been watching the
conversation intently between us asked, "Do you know those kids?"
"No,
I don't."
She
shook her head in amazement as she walked away.
I
thought about these two incidents at the park later. Where were the parents?
After all, these were young kids. I didn't let my ten and a half-year‑old out
of my sight and these children were much younger than my own daughter. And how
could these kids have such disrespect for authority and adults? Perhaps the
answer is no further away than the Beavis and Butt‑head show I had
captioned a couple weeks earlier that was broadcast on MTV-2. Let me share some
script from the episode that aired on June 17, 2009. Brace yourself.
THIS IS SEX
EDUCATION WEEK,
THAT'S RIGHT, SEX ED
WEEK.
WE'LL BE TALKING
ABOUT THE PENIS
AND VAGINA.
DO YOU THINK THAT'S
FUNNY?
DO YOU FIND IT
AMUSING THAT
WE'LL BE TALKING
ABOUT THE
TESTICLES.
WE'LL ALSO BE
TALKING ABOUT
VENEREAL DISEASE,
SEXUAL
INTERCOURSE, AND WE
WILL
DEFINITELY BE
SPENDING A LOT OF
TIME TALKING ABOUT
MASTURBATION.
[LAUGHTER]
>> NOW THAT
THAT'S OUT OF THE
WAY LET'S TAKE ROLL.
>> BUTT HEAD?
>> HERE.
[BELL
[LAUGHING]
>> PENIS.
>> HE SAID
MASTURBATION.
>> HE SAID
VAGINA.
COOL.
[LAUGHING]
- - -
>> GIVE ME
THAT FART KNOCKER.
CHECK IT OUT.
>> DAMN IT.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
>> I ERASED
YOUR UNIT.
DAMN IT, THAT'S NOT
FUNNY.
I NEED MY UNIT.
>> RIGHT.
>> HE TAKES
THE PENCIL TO THE –
>> BUTTHEAD IS
DOWN BUT NOT FOR
LONG.
HE'S GOING BACK INTO
THE TRUNK.
>> WHAT THE
HELL IS THIS CRAP?
KID, I THINK –
>> OH.
>> BROKEN.
>> LOOK AT IT.
THE DEHYDRATED BALL
GOT SO –
>> AND
BUTTHEAD IS SQUASHED LIKE
A JUNE BUG IN JULY.
>> YOU DUMB
ASS, QUIT SCREWING
AROUND AND HELP ME
OUT.
- - -
HEY, I WANT TO DIP
MY BALLS
IN IT.
[YEAH]
>> WHAT IS IN
IT?
>> OATMEAL.
>> I WANT TO
DIP MY BALLS IN IT.
>> WHAT IS IN
IT?
>> ANY HORS
D'OEUVRES.
WHO GIVES A DAMN?
I WANT TO DIP MY
BALLS IN IT.
>> CHEER UP.
>> I WANT TO
DIP MY BALLS IN IT.
>> I WANT TO
PUT IT ON MY
SANDWICH.
>> YEAH!
>> YOU KNOW
WHAT I'M GOING TO
SAY?
>> NO, YOU
DON'T.
>> YOU KNOW
WHAT I'M GOING TO
SAY?
>> NO.
WE DON'T.
>> YOU KNOW
WHAT I'M GOING TO
SAY?
>> NO, WE
DON'T.
>> YOU KNOW
WHAT I'M GOING TO
SAY.
>> NO, WE
DON'T.
>> I WANT TO
DIP MY BALLS IN IT.
>> YEAH!
[APPLAUSE]
- - -
THAT EXTINGUISHER
HAS GIVEN HIM
A WHOLE NEW
DIMENSION.
>> I'M NOT
DOING YOU, ASS-WIPE.
DO YOURSELF.
>> DAMN IT.
>> BEAVIS.
YOU'RE LIKE FAT.
>> IT'S MELEE
DOWN THERE.
>> EXPLODING
FARTS ARE COOL.
>> WHOA.
>> THAT'S
PRETTY COOL.
>> DAMN IT.
- - -
>> BEAVIS,
YOUR BALLS ARE FILTHY.
GO TO THE BALL
WASHER NOW.
>> I FEEL LIKE
I HAVE THE FULL
ARENA OF EXPERIMENTATION.
☨☨☨☨☨
In
the 1960's there was a hit song with a profound message, where have all the
flowers gone? I wonder today, forty
years later in 2009, where have all the parents gone? Where has all decency
gone? Where are our children and teens learning their values—from MTV 2's Beavis
and Butt-head? I hope not. The Bible says in Proverbs 22:15: "Folly is bound up in the heart of a
child." If parents don't teach and
guide their children, they will get their values from somewhere. Opportunities
abound for the evil one to snatch up our precious little ones and hurt them.
The
words of Jesus are vastly different from the script of Beavis and Butt-head.
His words do not degrade our bodies created in His image, diminish our self-worth
for whom He paid the ultimate price, or tear holes in the fabric of our hearts
that need healing. Jesus is our ultimate example of love. He admonished his
disciples in Mark 10:14: "Let the little children come to me, and do not
hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." Mark 10:16
tells us, "...and he [Jesus] took the children in his arms, put his hands
on them and blessed them."
These references and many others translate
into "time." Jesus took time. We must take time to be with our
children. Not just take them somewhere and drop them off for a day and leave
them to their own devices. As a single mother, if I don't take that time, who
will?
I don't want to leave the reader with an
uninspired view of today's parenting world. As Jesus often did in His parables,
I want to give "the other part of the story."
It was Mother's Day morning and I was on
my way into the adult class for Sunday school when I received this text
message: "I want to wish you a
happy Mother's Day."
I did not recognize the name or the phone
number. I sat through the entire Sunday school class reminiscing about who had
sent me such a wonderful text message. My two daughters had already made me
feel special but to receive a message from somebody I didn't know wishing me a
happy Mother's Day lifted my spirits even more. I felt very special to have
been remembered by an unknown person.
Later that afternoon my curiosity got the
better of me and I text messaged back the person, "Who are you? I don't
recognize your name."
As it turned out, a young girl had tried
to text message her aunt and had mis-entered the number and I received her
text. We sent many messages back and forth sharing the blessedness of Mother's
Day and how much we appreciated our mothers and aunts and how we had quite so
unexpectedly met in cyberspace. My children were quite amused at the flurry of
words that were exchanged. I was sad when the text messages finally ended. A
parent had taught their child how to love and the blessing had been "text‑messaged"
to me.
I want my children to be a blessing to
others. I don't want someone to look at my children and say, "I get no
respect." It's wonderful when a parent unabashedly tells you, "Your
child is a joy to have overnight at our house."
After a day at the Wild Adventures Park
and seeing three children who did not know the meaning of respect, I am
convicted of my need more than ever to be a loving mom. That translates into
time. That might mean riding more roller coasters and flumes.
Hopefully, at
another time and place, a person standing next to one of my daughters won't be
thinking, where is this kid’s parent? More importantly, I will be where
God wants me to be, and it won't be captioning Beavis and Butt-head. I
look forward to pushing the delete button and sending those nasty words to the
recycle bin. That show needs more than recycling. Our children deserve better.
