YOU have sinned grievously; DON'T say BOOBIE!

Ban “I love boobies” bracelets. Here is the article and a description of the bracelets. Forget the underlying intent behind them. What’s imperative is that we slap down a few pimply-faced adolescents from getting all swimmy-headed and stupid at the mention of the word “boobies.”

I actively support medical research in general, and cancer research in particularly. It’s affected me directly. So, it’s personal, not clinical. I don’t wear bracelets or pepper my automobile with stickers that proclaim it. However, I do wear a small pink lapel ribbon; contribute money to the extent that I can afford; and volunteer as much of my time as I can to cancer causes.

And, I will tell you directly that I have no problems with kids, or people of any age group wearing bracelets or whatever in support of medical research no matter the disease.

From me, wearing “I love bobbies” bracelets gets the benefit of the doubt because I believe it’s a sincere, cute, and catchy attempt to show support for breast cancer patients and research causes. I refuse to surrender my sanity to the usual small but vocal crowd of sexual prudes that insists on lumping everything into one of two of their self-defined categories: moral or immoral.

Indeed, there seems to be a growing army of people committed to debasing everything with which they disagree and determined to reform adolescents by eliminating adolescence. As a group, they exhibit the intellectual and emotional IQ of poison ivy.

So, sadly, what began as a catchy way to elevate breast cancer awareness, has devolved into a pissing contest between the moral prudes and the “you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do” crowd, with the schools in the middle of it all and the school principals banning an innocent idea in a vain attempt to restore some degree of decorum.

Suppose those bracelets had been embossed with the slogan, “BREAST CANCER HATES BOOBIES.” Would it have erupted into the controversy that it has?

From the kids’ perspective, it probably would not have amounted to more than the usual adolescent snickers over the term, “boobies,” most of which would have ceased over a short period.

But, from that small group of vocal adult prudes, “boobies” is an intolerable word. It does not matter that it demeans nothing or that its use was a sexually themed attempt, albeit a sincere one, to raise alertness to the nature of a nasty killer.

I suspect that intelligent people find these kinds of controversies laughable. I know that I do! But, others actively search for the opportunity to make mountains out of molehills. They live for the chance to tell the rest of us what should and should not offend us. Why do some school principals—supposedly, educated people—permit such nonsense to erupt into volcanic-like plumes of hollow tripe?

I don’t recall who authored the following quotation; but it seems too credible for comfort when it comes to primary and secondary public schools. Here it is. The only addition I’d add is that the lawyers love it; they’re making $millions as a result!

“The teachers are afraid of the principal; the principal is afraid of the superintendent; the superintendent is afraid of the school board; the school board is afraid of the parents; the parents are afraid of the kids; and the kids are afraid of no one!”

As a CHILD beginning the journey to this nation’s academic Mecca, I learned my RIGHTS relative to that pursuit. My father explained them to me very clearly. As a minor living under HIS roof, I had NONE!

My first problem with a teacher came as a member of Sister Leticia’s fifth-grade class. While complaining to him about her, I decided to voice (with utmost respect, of course) a bit of discontent at some of my parents’ rules as well. I remember using the word “unfair” several times.

Do you know that the words, “fair” and “unfair” do NOT appear in the Bill of Rights or anywhere else in the Constitution? My father had quite a way with words and an amazing ability to project unmistakable clarity.

”Son,” he began, “you’re a minor until you are 18-years-old. It means that your mother and I are your BOSSES. We’re responsible for everything you do until then; even if you do something really stupid… no matter that you didn’t mean to do it. And, during the hours that you are in school, your teachers are your bosses at our direction.

I tried to say something at this point but he told me to shut up and listen. And, there was something about his body language and the way he said it that told me NOT to push it.

He continued; “You’re a young snot going to school. And, other than the legal restrictions that we can’t physically abuse you, abandon you, or fail to maintain your general welfare, you have NO rights. And, as for your problems with Sr. Leticia, find a way to resolve them. Neither she nor any other teacher—from grammar school through college—needs to “get along” with students. UNDERSTAND?

Well, I DIDN’T understand, but fear and common sense silently counseled me NOT to debate the issue further. And, there were times that I even hated my father AND mother.

Then, in what now seems like an instant, I had kids of my own and everything took on a new perspective. Suddenly, I realized that my parents were informally educated geniuses and they loved me more than their own lives. I’ve passed my father’s words of long ago on to my own children and with a little luck, the cycle repeats.

There were many things my parents refused to let me do as a child and later as an adolescent. I didn’t like it, but, as my father also explained, “life is uphill.” And, if a teacher told me NOT to do something but I did it anyway and received punishment for it, guess which one of us my parents backed.

In fact, any of us kids being called to the principal’s office because of a disciplinary issue was tantamount to a death sentence. And, it would not have been the principal carrying it out, either; our parents would have done it when we got home. And, specific fault was irrelevant!

Society has changed quite a bit since those days, much of it for the worst. Though we kids of that time didn’t realize it, we were, relatively speaking, as financially poor as the proverbial church mouse. The difference was that general society didn’t accept it as an excuse for hooliganism.

And while, at that time, I wrote essays on what I wanted to be WHEN I grew up, today, many eager-to-learn elementary school kids living in crime-riddled neighborhoods are writing THEIR essays on what they want to be IF they grow up. It’s just the way it is; but it’s not the way it has to be.

Something has to change here, folks. And it has to happen sooner than later. “I love boobies” bracelets have no business even being on the scale of things about which intelligent adults should be upset.

Just the same, in honor of era of bracelets and signs, especially the ones proclaiming everything that “God hates,” I’ve designed a bracelet of my own. It’s black, about 3/8th of an inch wide, and in yellow print, reads, “DOG HATES DYSLEXICS!” I give it two weeks (TOPS) before the religious fanatics and the politically correct crowd come out of the woodwork declaring me the scum of the Earth. But, you know what? I don’t give a damn.

As a nation, many of us have to stop taking ourselves so seriously and stop attending every argument to which we’re invited. And WHERE did some of us ever get the notion that WE frail and imperfect humans must help an omniscient, all-powerful, perfect, and omnipresent God—if one exists—run the universe?

Joe Walther is a freelance writer and publisher of The True Facts. You may comment on his column by clicking here.

This entry was posted in Commentary, Humor, Main Page, Medicine, Society, Teenagers. Bookmark the permalink.