I reflected on what I had learnt from the course:
I sat through a couple of those comedy shows myself, and yeah, I learned some stuff:
Some contracted social worker making some extra dough, who is not a mother herself, doesn’t have a clue what she is talking about;
That non-mother was kind of embarrassing and creepy to witness, when she came back from the break sniffing and wiping her nose constantly (!) and jumping around gesticulating wildly like she had ants in her pants (or yeyo up her nose);
Fathers who were attending were, every last one of them, there because they had been robbed of their children and this was one obstacle in a long course still to be run to re-apply for the job of parenting their own kids;
Mothers who were there were there because they already knew that ticking boxes for coked-out non-parent social workers would be all it took to secure the position they had assigned themselves as single mothers;
The dads knew this idiotic exercise would not make a shred of difference in whether or not the mothers of their children ever did anything but whatever they felt like doing, court orders be damned;
The moms knew the same, and had the swagger to prove it;
Any man in the room knew that anything he said or did or any issue or question he raised, would almost certainly be noted and used against him later in a courtroom;
The women knew the same, and had the oh-please reaction to anything any man said, to prove it;
I’d thought we were supposed to have “won” the Cold War, and yet here I was sitting in a room full of commissars and informers, and being commanded to absorb politically correct gobbledygook, with the clear and present danger of being informed-upon being pretty much the meaning of the activity.
