Infantile Injustice.

Perhaps you have listened-in to the optimistic oblations of young ‘prentice parents contemplating the first-fruit of their optimism chewing its toe in its cot. Ten to one they say, “We shall bring him up different. He shall be reared as no other child ever has been reared. There shall be no mistakes.” They dismiss the matter as easily as that; as though the Infant Samuel were so much cat's meat on the hoof. Not for a moment do they consider him as a whirring bomb of obstructive and destructive potentiality; a bundle of dynamic perversities—an enigmatical engine whose only certainty is its uncertainty. Do they discuss with Samuel a matter so vital to his future? Not on your life! They take it for granted that Sam is happy, nay proud, to be the property of such blu-perfect parents. And Samuel just goes on sucking his toe and marshalling the facts and arguments against the time when he can give them the air. But, could he broadcast his bedtime story, this is what he would say: