Saturday, I was having lunch at a sidewalk café when a family walked by. Their four-year-old boy tripped and fell on the sidewalk. His mother rushed to him, hugged him, and asked a million times if he was alright. The kid then teared up and started wailing as if he’d been shot six times. The proper parental response, of course, is to do nothing. The boy learns to shake it off and doesn’t grow up to be a Taylor Swift fan (like Jim Comey).
I’ve seen this play a thousand times. The kid is fine, then Mom gushes all over him, and the kid figures he’s supposed to scream, cry, and demand to be taken to a university safe space. These are the boys who will grow up to get Social Justice degrees, dye their hair blue, and be triggered by sidewalks the rest of their lives.
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