I can’t believe I’m going to say this out loud…
There are too many ugly parents in the world.
Yes, this is judgmental. Yes, it’s a horrible thing to say and I don’t mean to single anyone out, but I’m tired of pretending they don’t exist. Maybe my time in Los Angeles has frayed my fuse. Stay with me if you can.
I’m sitting here at the park right now watching my son making sandcastles (AKA mounds of sand) and my gaze snags on something unsightly. I can’t take it anymore so I’m writing this down… on my phone. I’m watching a dad. He’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Grotesque.
His kid, in their own way, is just as hideous. Is it simply genetics? Did he work hard to get this way? Did he grow up not caring about how he looked? Maybe the reason his kid cries so much is from having such a repulsive father.
Ugly people like him, they walk around and spread their disfigurement. I wonder if they know it. It’s one thing to be ugly and not know, but this guy acts like he knows damn well how he appears and doesn’t care.
So, I’m at attention on this bench, debating how to tell this dad just how ugly he is. But then my conscience or decency or whatever, let’s just call it my ‘second guessing voice’, speaks up. ‘Who the hell are you to drop the hammer, Charlie?’ Some onlookers would probably cheer while others cringe. I cringe when I see people approach strangers for less. There’s no question it would be out-of-place and irresponsible of me. Society’s social veneer has me prisoner for the moment.
But a thought begins to burn a hole, ‘hopefully he won’t have any more children’ because you know he’d just be passing it on to them. And those kids then grow up ugly and theirs too. It never ends.
This man is robbing the world of its beauty, one day at a time, by his mere existence. It occurs to me that the reason for my hatred is perhaps unconscious identification with my own ugliness. That may well be true. I’ve got the scars and misshapenness too. But this guy has the market cornered.
I’m unable to stop myself. I walk over to him, now out of ear-shot of his kids. He stands there texting, probably some disgusting thing to another ghastly person, leaning against a wall. He reeks of unpleasantness. His ugly face vomits out an ugly word, “What?”
“Stop hitting your kids. I’m watching you.”
You’ll recognize them by the ugliness of their actions.
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