Our Generation

They blame our generation… But have they ever stop to think who raised us? That’s the question I ask myself everyday. There’s just so much yelling and fighting and it seems like they’re the ones that don’t ever come across that question themselves.


In today’s society, a lot of people from 14 to 30 steal and some even hurt others. I, myself, have never ever hurt anyone, but stealing is something I like to do. Our parents never really taught us not to do so. Their generation was known for not being responsible. It’s something that their parents never taught them. It’s quite shocking if you think about it. Them telling us not to steal actually affected a lot of our brains. Scientist said it caused something to be blocked and we just have urges to do it whenever. It’s crazy, but today, it’s normal. Well, normal for everyone under the age of 40. In our history books, it’s said that each new generation forgets something valuable to tell their offspring. And in doing so, it hurts our society and makes the world not a good place.  


“Michael, come down here right now!” Mom yelled. Here comes another argument. Another useless and loud argument. I walked down the old, loud, wooden stairs to hear what my Mom had instore for me now. I walked into the small and old living room and just stared at her. “What is this?” she demanded.


“I thought you guys would like it.”


“Michael, you can’t just keep stealing things! I’ve about enough of it. Take this back before your father gets home.” My dad. He was the classic, “my house, my rules,” kind of guy. The one where if you didn’t follow the rules, he would punish you. I’ve had my share of punishments, getting hit by the belt, kneeling on rice for endless hours, and when he would be drunk, sometimes he would throw punches. I’m not the strongest guy, but I am in good shape for being 17.


“Mom, I got this for you. I thought you would like it.” I had stolen a jewelry box that had a set of earrings, bracelet, ring, and a necklace. It’s something that she would have always wanted, but too poor to have it.


“Michael, if your father sees this… “ she said worried.


“We can hide it. Just like we did with the toys I got for Libby.” Libby’s my little sister. She’s six years old. And for a six year old, she’s pretty smart.




“Mom, please. You deserve something like this.” I know we argue most of the time, but she’s my my mom, she’s the one who loves me and cherishes me no matter what comes. I have to know that she has something that’s worth as much as she is to me.


“Okay, but hurry. Your father will be home very soon,” she said quickly. I ran to the hiding spot where I told Libby to hide her toys I got her. It was only a stuffed bunny, a box of crayons, and a coloring book, but we never had much growing up, and she deserved it. The hiding spot was in a closet where we didn’t store much in there. In the far back of the wall, there was a part of the floorboard that was loose, so I tore it off and that’s where I hid some of our more secretive stuff. I put the jewelry box next to the bunny and put the small floorboard back on top and closed the door. As soon as I did, I heard the front door open. It was my Dad. From the slam of the door, I could tell he was in a bad mood. I watched him as he walked to the kitchen table to sit down. Libby quickly walked to stand behind me. She was afraid of him and I have to admit, so was I sometimes.


“Why is Dad always mad?” Libby whispered. I turned around and kneeled down to her height.


“I’m not sure why, but don’t do anything that’ll upset him even more alright?” She nodded her head and wished as much as I did that he wasn’t the way he was.


“Where is my dinner?” Dad asked.


“It’s almost ready, sweetie.” Mom said.


“Almost ready? Do you know how hard I worked today?” Oh no, here it comes.


“Yes, it’s just today it took a little longer than usual.” Mom said trying to find a good excuse.


“A little longer than usual?” he stood up from his chair. “Do you think I’m stupid? You’ve been talking to someone else, haven’t you?” He always thought that Mom was talking to another guy, which I wouldn’t blame her, but she would never do such a thing.


“No, honey, I would never,” she said gently. Suddenly, Dad took the glass from the table and threw it at Mom. Luckily it missed her and just his a cabinet. Both Mom and Libby yelled. Dad walked over to Mom and pulled her up by her shirt and leaned her against the counter.


“If you think for one moment that I don’t know what you’re doing, think again. If you ever talk to whoever you’ve been talking to again… I swear you’ll regret anything you’ve ever done in your miserable life.” Mom started to cry. “Do you understand me, woman?!”


“Yes,” Mom said, sobbing a little.


“Then get me my dinner.” he said and walked back to the kitchen table and sat back down. Mom went straight back to getting dinner ready. She quickly set all of the plates down, filled with food.


“Libby, Michael, come and eat your dinner.” Mom said. Libby and I carefully walked to the table and sat down, and we all began to eat. Usually dinners weren’t awkward, but tonight was one of those nights.


“No one gonna talk or what?” I hardly talked during our dinner conversations, so Mom always started them.


“How was your day, sweetie?”  


“Same old, same old.” Dad said while opening up a beer. I hated the smell of beer, mostly because whenever I smelled it, it always reminded me of Dad. We sat in  silence while eating, until Dad noticed something. He looked up from his plate and looked at Libby.


“What did I tell you about playing with your food?” Tonight we there were a lot of vegetables and Libby wasn’t a big fan of them. All Libby did was stare at him. “Just going to look at me like a dumb ass?” Libby started to cry. She hated when he called her names. “Get up, right now,” he said as he got up. I didn’t know what he was going to do. He walked over towards. “I said get up!” She got up, still crying. Then, Dad slipped his belt off fast and bent Libby over and quickly whipped her butt. Libby cried out in pain. I got up as fast as I could and pushed Dad down. I grabbed Libby and started to walk away. I didn’t know where, but I wasn’t going to let this happen. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he yelled. I was just about to open the front door when a hand grabbed mine and pulled me back. “You think you can do whatever you want?” All I did was stare at him. “Are you a dumb ass too? This whole house is filled with them!”


“It takes one to know one.” I said quietly. His face turned cold. Shit, why the hell did I just say that? He quickly took me by the collar of my shirt and started to punch me in the face. He must of been really mad by that because I blacked out and couldn’t remember a thing. I woke up on my bed with an enormous headache. I took a few breaths, turned, and sat up. My Mom walked into my room with Libby in hand.


“Oh, Michael, are you alright?” she whispered.




“ Alright, I need you to put your coat and shoes on, and grab your bag.”


“What? Why?” I asked confused.


“We’re leaving tonight.”


“Where are we gonna go?”
“Well, I was hoping since you know how to steal, you can put that to use and get us some train tickets.” I looked at her and grinned, because for the first time she had had enough. I quickly grabbed my things and we left the house. All I could think was, holy shit.            


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