Mr. and Mrs. Harris? Meet this disgusting-looking dead body with a bullet hole in it. Your son produced this corpse.
While your 12-year-old son, Demarco Harris, was out at 2 a.m., without your knowledge or care, he shot and killed an innocent woman (a woman with loved ones who depended on her) during a robbery on a Detroit street. When police came your home and asked for his whereabouts, you so-called parents didn’t have a clue as to where he was or what horrible thing he just did.
It’s because of so many people like you that Wayne County Prosecutor Kym Worthy is drafting a proposal that would enable the city to lock up parents who miss too many scheduled parent-teacher conferences. That’s right, up to three days in jail.
It’s because of people like you that Detroit has, by far, the highest high school dropout rate in the industrialized world. Not just the nation, but the industrialized world. Because you are too shiftless, listless and lazy to be even part-time parents.
You won’t lift a hand to discipline your wayward adolescents, but will torpedo up to the school and yell at a teacher with blowtorch intensity for having the audacity to rightfully discipline your child.
I remember the one and only time I got suspended from school in the ninth grade. I remember walking home from school feeling like the character in Dead Man Walking, just waiting for an excruciating and unbearable execution to commence once I walked through the door. I was scared that my father might accidentally kill me. I remember my mother cheering my father on like he was scoring a touchdown as he tap-danced on my backside. And this was just for a three-day suspension.
But, Mr. and Mrs. Harris, regardless of what I thought of my father’s extreme disciplinary ways, he was what you are not. He was a parent. And because of my father, none of his four children have blood on their hands. You can’t say that, can you, Mr. and Mrs. Harris?
Oh, well, it could be worse: you are still alive. The woman that your son robbed and shot no longer is. All because you didn’t feel like being a parent. And what are you going to say to that woman’s family as they sob at her funeral? “Sorry” …?
No, that’s only what you are. –terry shropshire
