Honey B

I say all this about shoes and burgers because I wish she had a Clarence.

Don’t get me wrong. The girl ain’t no George Bailey. She is more of a pain in the badunkadunk, but that is the point.

Now, from a safe-ish distance I watch her chew people up and spit them out and I can’t help thinking of the pre-k teacher I never met in person who told me that Honey Bunch seemed to be focused mostly on the snacks, less on playing well with others and eye contact.

Sounds like Honey B.

Clarence, where are you for a girl like Honey? What would you tell her about the missed opportunities? Broken relationships? Bite marks on the hands that fed her?

George Bailey needed to see how important his life was to others. Honey needs to see that all the friends, family and kind strangers she has kicked to the curb were the angels.

Poor Clarence. If Honey’s favorite word for “mom” is b!+ch, what’s she gonna call you?

Today I saw her trash a kind woman who was the victim of abuse.

And I was ashamed. Ashamed, angry distraught.

I thought, honey, I know a piece of you is still that scared angry little girl, lost in your own skin.

But there ain’t no excuse whatsoever for that kinda cruel.

Put your big ol’ pants on
Woman up
And face the cold hard fact
Of you.


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