Only young women have important things to say said Oscar Wilde, but of course that depends on the oldest man in the room. Women, and especially young women, have been, and always shall be, the bastions of society’s morality. Alas boys will be boys, evolving ever so slightly from clubbing the object of their affection into submissive positions, to creating poetry to woo a willing consent to allow him to spread his demanding seed of procreation.
In Olde English common law, they had the rule of thumb a husband could legally beat his wife with a switch no thicker than his thumb. Women were chattel, possessions with only the rights their husband would grant them. The suffrage movement procured the ballot box for the fairer sex, a day of feminine liberation.
Fast forward to World War Two and the advent of Rosie the Riveter. Women were doing a mans work as the avaible men went off to war. When the victors, so long deprived, returned, they took themselves the prize of brides and created Levittown and the suburban utopia.
An unabated frenzy of pregnancies, with the goal of obtaining the fanciest perambulator, created the baby boomer generation.
Vietnam, white rabbits, Woodstock, and the hippies of Haight Ashbury were tuning in and dropping out. Burning flags and braless skanks who loved all the one’s they were with. Free love and flower-powered drugs reduced pesky inhibitions commanded the steering wheel, as morality looked back from the idle rumble seat.
The young middle-aged wanted to get into the fray. So as not to live in regret, they too would partake. When love grows cold over the crab grass knolls and stale under the diaper pails, wife swapping was invented.
A generation never satisfied living in the excess of consumption; divorce was the natural course as the family came under heavy attack, from within and from without.
Divorce, once the dominion of the upper class that had enough wealth to circumvent God’s decree expediently was put asunder, and was now freely available, if not acceptable to the most common rabble carouser.
Gloria Steinem made the trumpet call: women were now liberated to find and fend for themselves. Let’s face it, ladies; women need a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
Viola, the advent of the latch-key kid. Sorry, children, mom’s got to go to work; your dad, the jerk, has not paid his child support. The lessons I would have taught you now go for naught, as your life’s lessons will come from the mean streets, as you will grow up as empty lot weeds.
The boys grow up without a role, a generation without heroes.
Marriage, which is not for Me., It is but a temporary turn of events, with a life sentence of the child support. I need to play the field and avoid the court; besides I am in it for the sport.
Men have gone to extraordinary lengths to posses a pair of well tanned legs obtaining an Ivy League education and flaunting all the trappings of wealth and position, a signal to the female he is a cut above the rest of the herd. He can provide all her Neiman-Marcus needs and private schools for their progeny. Men would proclaim undying love, fidelity and security. This mating dance, in all degrees, used to insure the basic and fundamental unit of society, the family.
Men would audition for a well turned ankle; a smile and a kiss would be tantamount to a proposal of marriage. Only a cad, a bounder, and neer-do-well would trifle with a proper lady’s heartfelt affections
The girls today audition for the boys, as they would be less than women and more than toys, a common pin cushion, a docking station of inclusion while gaining acceptance, to their groupie peer group of confusion. Boys will be boys and are truly grateful for this smorgasbord of sexual prosperity.
Now more than ever society is deluged with teen and younger and younger pregnancy. Teen pregnancy is on the whole is on the decline except where sex education is routinely taught.
The cry goes out let them eat cake make no mistake, they will partake, and our consequence will be to support a baby having a baby. We can hand out wrapped in primary colors of course, condoms and diaphragms, gels, and foam and pills of all kinds to insure the proper birth control. We can do it right here in the River city school. Perhaps, in time, we can provide a conjugal break to make sure they do it right and make no mistakes.
Perhaps the resources and energy would be best expended in the education of consequences. Girls that had to become women before their time could share their experience and their hope for their child. Can we educate the whole family showing love, concern, and compassion helping to redefine parental obligations and traditional values?
Words never heard or uttered, like chastity, abstinence, and the maturity of a love unfeigned could be reintroduced. When virginity is no longer a bad word, but a mark of honor and purity of spirit without pretence and without guile; when good is taken for evil, and evil for good. When we present a cornucopia of contraceptives are we not aiding and abetting with a veiled permission of consent? Do we dare look back and embrace the words with love, and respect? And then let God do the rest.
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