Post Apocalyptic living is going to be tough. Really, really tough.
I can hear you, over there, rolling your eyes, doing that irritating ‘blahblahblah’ thing while pretending your hand is a mouth. The last person who did that to me got a fork in the hand, so stop it. You done? Good.
I KNOW I’ve said it before. I KNOW I keep going on about how back-breakingly, bone-achingly hard post apocalyptic living is going to be, but I don’t think you get it yet.
This here is one of the hardest bits. You’re going to need to work, every day of your life. And so are your kids.
Here’s the thing. In the west we have this ridiculous idea that children shouldn’t be part of the workforce. It’s cause we’re so wealthy with lives that are easy compared to other parts of the world. We romanticise childhood to the point that they don’t even get punished for doing something wrong any more. It’s sick. And post apocalypse, it’s stupid.
Now, bear in mind, I’m not saying we should return to the victorian era, with kids getting maimed for life because their little hands could fit into the machines more easily. (Although, kids do have really little hands. If you need to defuse a bomb, that could be useful.) I’m just saying that keeping them in this artificial and elongated state of innocence isn’t really going to be possible.
From the point they can form complex sentences, they probably need to be working. Everyone needs to pull their weight, post apocalypse. You can’t have any freeloaders.
You may be looking at your
little shitbag screaming crotchfruit adorable kid right now and wondering what on earth they can do.
Lots. They can do lots. Not as much, or the same things as adults for sure, but they can help you work the fields, herd the animals, keep tallies of your population, learn how to use weapons, sell your goods to traders – all things kids were required to do in pre industrial society.
But what they can do will depend on the apocalypse type etc. The main thing is: stop thinking your kidis special. Start remembering your kid will have to pay its way.
And if you get a ‘my preshus snowflake angel’ mombie in your compound – beat it out of her.
Come on, you’ve been wanting to do that for years. Now you have an excuse.