If You Have 19 Kids, You Should Be Allowed To Molest At Least One Of Them

At this point, I’d say everyone is aware that Josh Duggar molested a bunch of girls as a teenager. The family is standing behind him, and there’s evidence that the father buried evidence a decade ago, making him, to some degree, complicit in the molestation.

And this story has brought out a lot of high horses on social media. It seems everyone I know is quick to trot out their child or two and brag about how they would never molest, nor would their children. Everyone on Facebook wants to post their little rant about how great of a job they did with their son Bryce.

But hold on Beth, shut up for a second. Bryce is just one stupid boy.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to parent 19 children? To feed nineteen mouths? Wash behind 38 ears? Change 20 diapers? (The father also wears a diaper). No, you don’t know, Beth. You don’t know anything. That’s why no one likes your statuses.

But I’ll tell you how difficult it is. It’s very god damn difficult. The Duggars have their faults, but they also successfully raised most of their 19 children.

They’re putting half of those kids through college. That’s 8 kids through college. How many can you manage? Two, maybe three at best? Those are amateur numbers. If you look at their parenting career as a whole, they’ve done a pretty damn good job.

What I’m saying is, if you have 19 kids, and 17 of them turn out great, go ahead and touch one of em up. It’ll all even out in the spread.

It’s called the law of averages, I think. And it means that if you do one thing that’s good, it’s okay to do other things that are bad. This is the basis of business ethics, Christianity, and my personal policy towards shoplifting batteries from the grocery store. It’s how the world works, and frankly, I don’t understand why so many parents are shocked by this Josh Duggar situation.

Years ago, when I was much younger, much less responsible, and certainly not more reckless but definitely less crafty in my debauchery, I had a job driving a tiny train around a shopping mall. The job sucked, but it was my first job and I didn’t understand that shitty jobs like that aren’t important. So, fearing its loss, I put everything I had into that tiny train. I made sure my uniform was always pressed. I never let the children speak to me while the train was in operation. And no matter what happened, no matter how much a child cried about showing up late to one of the stations and being left behind, I made sure that damn train ran on time. There was only one issue: I would always show up drunk. I was 19, that’s what you do at that age: you drink all the time forever.

Naturally, I thought my drunkenness would go unnoticed. I was wrong. A parent reported me to mall management. I was called in for a performance review. I sat there in the drab little office behind the Payless, tucked away in the labyrinth of service corridors and storage rooms, and awaited the manager’s decision. I assumed I would be fired. What they said shocked me.

“Look, Nicole,” said the manager. “No one wants to drive that train, and you do it without complaint. So I’ll be honest, I don’t care if you drink on the job here and there, just don’t let the parents find out.”

I learned a valuable lesson that day: I learned that if you do other things well enough; it’s okay if you do some things bad. No one wants to parent 19 children. Parenthood is a long, tiny little train that drives around a shitty mall until you’re fat and broke and your knees don’t work anymore, and the only reward is you know a bunch of smiling children are right behind you. If you can manage parenting 19 children, you should be able to show up drunk to the job. You should be able to molest at least one of them, and still feel like you did a pretty good job. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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