It is yet another dysfunctional day on the Westside, where the birds seem to never out churp the hum of the Mercedes zooming up the mountain road.
As the moon emerges and after I manage to drag my economy sized car up the mountain road, I find myself standing in your typical, 8000 square foot house equip with flat screen TV’s, designer furniture, undocumented maids, and enough organic food to adequately feed one Ethiopian.
As I walk into the kitchen, it takes no time for me to realize, the mom has no idea where her kids are. She also exerts minimal effort to see if they are still in the house or even alive. Her only comment to me is “I haven’t seen them in hours. Maybe they are downstairs somewhere. Why don’t you go and look?” So tonight I’m not only a tutor but also a detective.
I go downstairs and after recovering from the pungent smell of dog pee, I walk into quite the peculiar situation. In the study, in between the Mac computer and a sweaty school uniform, this boy is beating his younger brother with a cross. Yes, a cross, like the cross of Jesus, which was hanging on the wall but had been pulled off in a fit of rage.
After I told the child to stop beating his brother, I wondered a few things. Of all the objects in the room, why did the boy decide it was best to beat his little brother with a cross? Was there nothing else he could have used to beat his younger brother with? I see a few belts on the ground. I see lots of cords. I see lots of books. Why not use those objects instead of a cross if you are going to resort to that sort of rough justice?
Here’s a word of advice for all parent of kids on the Westside. When kids come home from school, you unfortunately have to watch them. You cannot let them run wild in your 8000 square foot houses. If you do, you know what happens? They do stupid shit like beat their brother with a religious artifact. Talk to them regularly. Explain to them right from wrong. Eventually they will learn to not use a cross to beat their brother, when there’s a small chair nearby.
