Modern kids need trigger warnings.

Modern kids need trigger warnings.
They need gentle countdowns to behave.
My mother did not count to three.
She operated on pure, supersonic terror.
If you heard your first name, you were in trouble.
If you heard your middle name included, you were basically dead.
She didn’t need a cell phone to track my location.
She just stepped out onto the front porch.
She inhaled half the neighborhood’s oxygen.
Then she unleashed an absolute sonic boom.
It rattled the neighbor’s windows.
It stopped cars dead in the street.
A SWAT team with a bullhorn is a complete joke.
A police siren is just elevator music.
When my mother dropped my full government name, my soul temporarily left my body.
I sprinted home so fast my canvas sneakers caught fire.
We didn’t have peaceful conflict resolution.
We learned respect through sheer, vocal-cord-shattering volume.