Spoiled, Drag Racing Teens, Or, A Quick Snapshot Of the Future Debt-Ridden

"The thing that impresses me the most about America is the way parents obey their children."

King Edward VIII

The man we bought the car spoke broken English. He was in his mid-fifties, healthy looking. I was standing on the curb with him as the ever lovely and fiscally sound Bianca drove the car around the block.

"My son," he said, shaking his head.

I thought he was addressing me. "Yes?"

"No, my son's car." He pointed to a late model Acura parked down the street. The axle was visible and the tires skewed at weird angles. "He is nineteen. Racing with friends. Around curves. Hit roadside, flip around, thank God no fence or poles."

"Kids," I said. I looked at the Acura. It looked brand new. Did I just say "kids?" I thought. What am I, sixty?

"My daughter, when it time to buy her car, she say, 'Father, I must have new. Must be new car.'" He sighed. And looked down the street. It looked like he was afraid Bianca was into her fifth donut turn in the parking lot of a Wendy's. "Now," he said, "she says to me, 'Father, you were right. I not need new car.' She cannot make the payments, you see. But I love my daughter. What she asks of me I must give."

"I see," I said, though I didn't.

There was a long moment where we just stood and looked down the street, trying to will Bianca and the gray car to appear.

"Your wife, she is very beautiful."

"Um, thank you. "

"I don't understand these children. They must have everything. I work my fingers to bone at my shop," he said, now getting really worked up. "Seven days a week, so that they can have what I didn't have. Now I must sell my backup car to pay for new underparts for son's car. " A real panic came into his face. "Now what happen if my car does not work? What happens if I cannot unlock door of shop? Me, my family, all dead. Dead! Because of racing with friends and smoking funny pot."

I did an eye opening look of shock. "Wow."

A noise came from down the street and the gray car came into view, Bianca smiling. So much for bargaining, I thought.

Later I was thinking about the man and his kids. Here's a guy who had sacrificed so much for his family. Took great care of his belongings, to the point where he owned a 1989 car with an interior that looked no different than if it had just come off the line. Contrast that with his son, hasn't worked for anything in his life, fat doobage hanging from a slack lip, doing seventy in a thirty-five and striking a curb with a 2006 Acura he has no respect for. A daughter, his "baby girl," who cares more about how she appears to strangers than her own family or financial well-being. It was strikingly clear and laid bare before me: this is America. Right here. From hardworking immigrants to careless, culture-drugged morons unable to form one thought of gratitude for anything they've been lucky to receive.

Now take this down the road. Two, three generations from now. Generation Z 1a, or whatever they'll be calling them, lives literally nothing but noisy and beepedy-boopedy technological distractions from morning until night, spoiled by crap bought for them on credit by strapped out parents looking for the easy way to gain love.

Jeez, I'm talking like I'm sixty.