Want the Truth Behind “I Am Adam Lanza’s Mother”? Read her blog.A viral counterpost to "I am Adam Lanza's Mother" charges that the blog of "Adam Lanza's Mother" reveals she is perhaps... stretching the truth a bit by describing her son as a future mass murderer.
Liza Long, the woman who wrote the viral post “I Am Adam Lanza’s Mother”, is being held up as a heroic woman warranting sympathy for bring the plight of her mentally ill son to the public.
Her blog tells a different story. Long has written a series of vindictive and cruel posts about her children in which she fantasizes about beating them, locking them up and giving them away. In most posts, her allegedly insane and violent son is portrayed as a normal boy who incites her wrath by being messy, buying too many Apple products and supporting Obama.
According to the blog, Liza Long is going through a bitter divorce and has violent and paranoid fantasies about her family. The father of the children is also portrayed as abusive.
Those of you who aren’t parents should really take my advice and stick with a puppy.
Because the puppy will never grow up to be a teenager.
Confession: My teen is driving me nuts. Oh sure, the rest of you see this poised, self-confident, polite young man who always holds doors open and helps little old ladies cross the street and can magically make your iPad work. Sure, he’s a straight A Boy Scout who can play anything in the key of Coldplay on the piano and writes English essays that make his teacher weep for joy.
What you don’t see is him shooting rubber bands at his siblings while he is supposed to be cleaning the Room of Doom. I have asked him to clean said room, every day for the past two months, roughly 14.7 times per hour. If you have a teenage son, you know the room I am talking about. There’s no point in even trying to guess if the clothes are clean or dirty, or what that strange bloodlike substance on the wall is, or where the two year supply of cookie crumbs ground into the carpet came from. Do not, under any circumstances, look under the bed.
My son’s room also features a bizarre altar decorated with icons and product boxes for every single Apple item ever produced. The only thing missing is a candle. A picture of Saint Steve Jobs smirks benevolently down on this collection, which I must confess I didn’t realize was a collection—to me, it looked like a lot of old product packaging that needed to be tossed.
“No, Mom!” my son screamed as I started toward the shrine with a garbage bag in hand. “That’s Apple stuff! Steve Jobs personally designed those boxes. By himself!”
In addition to worshiping Steve Jobs, my son is an Obama-loving Democrat. All day long I have to listen to him go on and on about how President Obama and Steve Jobs have made the earth a paradise right here and now, set to a Coldplay soundtrack (okay, at least the kid has decent taste in tuneage).
This is, of course, revenge for my own Ronald Reagan-loving years in a Carter-Dukakis-Clinton household. I still love Ronald Reagan. But I have a whole lot more respect for the restraint my parents exercised when the teenage me told them all about how the world really works, and how silly liberals like them just didn’t understand, and how they just needed to read "Atlas Shrugged."