Parents of America, please for the love of God, stop hugging your kids! If little Tommy picks up his toys, he does not need the fanfare of hand claps and high fives. If Danisha (yeah.. keeping it multicultural) gets Satisfactory+ in Plays Well with Peers on a progress report that is not the same as straight A’s. This does not deserve an ice cream party. I know you love your kids. I want you to love your kids. No one wants a bunch of angsty, self hating, self conscious adults running around. That shit is only acceptable in teenagers. Hormones, amiright!
I’m just saying, I am tired of dealing with insecure, entitled adults.. better known as Millennials. Now I know the Millennial generation has gotten a lot of crap for being “special snowflakes” who are always balking at micro-aggression. I myself am a Millennial…. at the tail end of the cohort group, but I’m still in there. Like I’m young enough to go Ccoachella, but I’m too old to wear a flower crown. . . even ironically. I only bring this up to mention that these are my folks. I get it. Life is hard man, but there are no gold stars in adulting. I can’t make you feel better about yourself. As the sage, Katt Williams put it, its called SELF-esteem for a reason.
This is my generation, but they are just continuously disappointing me. 40 years ago people went to work, did a good job, and went home. You know what their reward was… a paycheck. Kids need positive reinforcement, but if they are always amazing and pretty and the best at everything. When they grow up the real world will end up punching them in their proverbial nuts. So I guess… hug your kids. Just do it in moderation. Like drinking. Otherwise you might end up in a massage parlor with your underwear on backwards and someone else’s ID…I’m only asking for the sake of the next generation. I can see how participating trophies went wrong, because of the ‘everybody’s a winner’ mentality I now spend a large part of my work day giving atta-boys to people for basically doing their jobs. . . okay. I’m not actually celebrating basic-ness, but they look at me like they want me too.
I just…. can’t
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