Mothers United for Peace
Informing mothers around the world of
what's really happening in the world today.
Sunday, November 28, 2004
 
An Analogy


ESSAY STYLE


Born into an enclave by the mere whim of over-zealous young fools, we are here for one collective ideal: death. We seek anarchy as a fitting end and it seeks us as yet another victim. Victimized by our own end, we find comfort in our means—and it is in our means that we shall forever scrutinize; it is corrupt.

“Family” is a word created by polite society—for the sake of the over-zealous young fools. We are thrust into this situation by the very means that gives us comfort and hope. Thrust into a falsity of truth, love and conviction; by these very such things. Was it your mother who married the idiot father?—the young lad with neither wit nor heart but a nice jaw-line. Maybe you’re a product of foolish decisions, empty promises and misunderestimated actions. You’re inevitably disgusted by your predicament, regardless of its original cause.

STORY STYLE

Apparently a family is a unity. Across the road lives a family of two parents and three bright, cheery lads: Tom, George and Ben. They’re the sort of family that psychologists dread to meet. It puzzles me to imagine that Tom, George and Ben would ever find their family to be particularly united. I am told though, that when they were young they did. Although, ideals are easily transposed with reality at a young age; assurance exists as trust and trust is abundant amongst the young and inexperienced. As they’ve grown older though, their father has become quite aloof and spends most of his time at work. He rarely speaks to the mother and doesn’t understand the boys at all. It’s a sad situation across the road.
The mother is a lovely lady; nice and peaceful. She looks after the boys and they adore her very much—for 12 hours a day, they’re a healthy, functioning family, and then the father comes home. He’s the self-appointed tyrant of the family. Despite never understanding the boys and not speaking to the mother, he’s all too eager to vocalize his opinions and pass them off as a consensual sentiment. He’s only one fifth of the family unit, yet he dominates with a particularly passive aggressive demeanor. The poor boys suffer as a result.
Every day I pray for my friends across the road. I pray to The Father that Tom, Ben and George will have their voices heard in the family and that the mother will be allowed to see her boys flourish past this restrictive circumstance. I pray against anarchy in that family and I pray for common sense to prevail in helping the family function. I’ve been asking The Father of this for years now and only recently have I come to realize why he’s not answering my request: he’s The Father of the boys across the road and nothing more.


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