I always marvel at how post inspiration presents itself at the perfect time.
Not finding inspiration in the prompt, I decided to listen to the Adele station on I Heart Radio while I thought. The music is free, but there is a commercial that plays when you first get on (I guess they need to make their money somehow). The commercial that plays is usually the same one, and it’s the same one that plays on TV, for Canine Advantix. The one where the woman won’t let her muddy dog inside.
Today, I was surprised to see a commercial, actually it’s not really a commercial per say, but it was for Walgreen’s. There aren’t many ads that bring me to tears. Okay, the ASPCA commercials around Christmas usually do.
What you are about to see was the type of thing that makes you all full inside. All I will say is, wouldn’t be nice if we all had the perspective of children: giving and optimistic. I think we be a happier planet.
WARNING: This post contains mature themes, so if you are a child, you MUST stop reading now!!!
As a kid of course I was like every other child on Christmas Eve. I got maybe two hours of sleep. I was imagining the bounty Santa would bring.
I think I figured out the truth about the fat, bearded man at about age nine. Of course I played along for my sisters, age five and six (and they say I was a mean big sister!).
The 33-year-old Erin finds the whole Santa thing quite ironic. When you’re a child your parents tells you to always tell the truth. It’s one of the Ten Commandments. Even God tells you not to lie.
Yet every single adult is in on the ruse. There are mall Santas and airplanes that track his whereabouts. I even heard on the news he was spotted over Saskatchewan.
I guess to adults, Santa is more of a fib than a lie. A fiblet, perhaps. A fiblet I plan to tell my future nieces and nephews.
Every kid, or at least little girls, plays pretend. I know my sisters and I did. Playing house, where at of course I was always the mother. Hey, I’m the oldest—it’s my right!
In a previous post I told you I am not a feminist in the least. Yet, I must wonder why the Play Best Pressed Ironing Board, on Target’s website, is pink. It’s obviously made for girls. The same with the Minnie Bows Twinkle Vacuum Cleaner. Does that mean only girls can play with them, which is a separate issue.? Hey, Dad irons, Dad vacuums.
A toy shopping cart is okay, little girl. Just stay away from the toy appliance aisle.
Back to my original point. In my opinion, toys like an ironing board and vacuum cleaner show little girls that only girls, then women, can do those things. I would hate for my nieces to grow up thinking that cooking and cleaning were their only choices in life.
I know my sisters, and luckily they’ll set their kids straight.
I loved school. Especially the first day. You unpacked crayons, a glue stick, and sharp never-been-used pencils from your new backpack and hoped it would be a good year. As the teacher passed out the books, I would be so excited about what I would learn: cursive? Fractions? States and capitals? Each school year brought so much promise!
I must admit, for being so psyched about another year, by February or so I was done, over it, probably thanks to my teacher, my desk mate, or MATH.
Sadly, less than 60% of the world’s children are ever educated past secondary school, according to UNICEF.
I watched a documentary on Netflix last night called On the Way To School and it showed the risks children and their parents are willing to take to have something we in America take completely for granted: an education. These kids walk four to six hours a day through terrain as diverse as the Atlas Mountains to African plains, being responsible for younger siblings, and being wary of wild animals. Not only do these kids not complain, they go eagerly. One 11-year-old African boy and his 5-year-old sister left their house—and I use the term very loosely—at 4:30 in the morning to begin their journey. They outran elephants (apparently wild elephants aren’t quite as happy as the ones in “Dumbo” and kill people when they get the chance) but the boy dropped his water bottle—filled with water acquired by hand digging through sand until he reached the water table—in the process. But he didn’t want to be late, because it was his turn to raise the flag.
It really put things into perspective. Instead of complaining that I had lots of homework, I should have been thankful—I’m pretty sure I couldn’t outrun an elephant.
I wouldn’t call myself a feminist. Sure, I believe that women can do anything, from stay-at-home moms to CEO’s of Fortune 500 corporations, but I’m definitely not about to join NOW.
Still, a recent Super Bowl commercial, that is still playing makes me want to burn my bra. It’s not just because of the inappropriateness of the ad. It’s also about taste. Watching a “possibly nude” female walking through a farmer’s market is just crude. Then at the end of the ad we see she wasn’t completely naked, but she might as well have been: a miniscule nude-colored pair of shorts. As for the “top,” well, if you’ve seen the commercial, you know why I use quotes.
(Insert imaginary video here. I’m not going to condone the commercial by providing a YouTube rendition of it.)
What irks me is besides the taste (or lack thereof) is that it’s fine with everyone. We don’t even question things like this anymore. Movies with scenes of nudity and more “f-words” than you can count still have a PG-13 rating; an R-rate if there’s a cigarette.
They say kids today grow up so fast. The internet, TV, and movies aren’t helping. What scares me is, is this what will my nieces and nephews will be exposed to?