If the world ever comes to an end (you know, because of zombies or something) and assuming I live through the initial wave of meteors, democrats or plague-infested rats…I’m going to find the MKs*.
And not the city-sissy ones that grew up on some Greek island or just lived in Canada.
No.
I’d look for the ones who grew up where God never meant for people to go (like Canada…oh, wait). I’d look for the ones who learned how to stitch up wounds by practicing on a pig foot their dad bought at the market (like I did). Or the ones who strapped on roller blades and went bus surfing (it’s a thing).
The ones who ate scabs, hunted cicadas, had pet snakes and looked like beggars most of the time (typically because bus surfing involves falling A LOT and breathing exhaust).
And not the city-sissy ones that grew up on some Greek island or just lived in Canada.
No.
I’d look for the ones who grew up where God never meant for people to go (like Canada…oh, wait). I’d look for the ones who learned how to stitch up wounds by practicing on a pig foot their dad bought at the market (like I did). Or the ones who strapped on roller blades and went bus surfing (it’s a thing).
The ones who ate scabs, hunted cicadas, had pet snakes and looked like beggars most of the time (typically because bus surfing involves falling A LOT and breathing exhaust).
See, when the alien living inside Al Gore finally decides to reveal itself and join forces with whatever is controlling Rush Limbaugh, I want to band with the kids who were toughened by being alienated (aha, a pun!) in jungles, mountains, islands or whatnot.
Because we have been told by counselors, teachers, and tons of books, mostly titled “How to UnBreak an MK," that we are ‘survivors’; that we have been ‘traumatized by leaving our culture.’ My favorite thing is when we’re called ‘nomads’, but that’s only because it sounds like ‘gonads’.
What the well-meaning books and counselors fail to realize is….we are survivors, motherfucker.
The ones who did whatever they had to in order to make it. And its no accident we’re the last ones standing.
The ones who did whatever they had to in order to make it. And its no accident we’re the last ones standing.
Damaged? Sure.
Scuffed up? Yeah.
Emotionally castrated? Probably.
Hard as nails and more likely to survive than some Hampton-bred preppy?You’d better believe it.
Sure, we may be weird and squat on toilet seats out of habit, but if the world ever ran out of toilets…guess who wouldn’t be fazed**? Perhaps we don’t know where we belong or seem particularly clueless when it comes to American social norms, but when you are a survivor your priorities realign.
Scuffed up? Yeah.
Emotionally castrated? Probably.
Hard as nails and more likely to survive than some Hampton-bred preppy?You’d better believe it.
Sure, we may be weird and squat on toilet seats out of habit, but if the world ever ran out of toilets…guess who wouldn’t be fazed**? Perhaps we don’t know where we belong or seem particularly clueless when it comes to American social norms, but when you are a survivor your priorities realign.
I want to change my answer.
I’d look for the Every Day Survivors.
The ones who have fought before and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a zombied Josh Groban (even though he has the voice of an angel) if they had to.
The ones who have fought before and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a zombied Josh Groban (even though he has the voice of an angel) if they had to.
Those who battle their own demons and refuse to give up; who stand up for the abused, wage war against the abuser; who lay siege to lies and will not be defeated.
To the bullied and belittled, to those who protect the lonely and forgotten…I want you on my team.
To the bullied and belittled, to those who protect the lonely and forgotten…I want you on my team.
*This is a term missionary kids use in reference to themselves or other TCKs (third culture kids), which I’m assuming you didn’t know because you had to look at this footnote. Which means you wouldn’t be one of the people I’d look for when the Mole King finally decides to take over. Good luck, bub.
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