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Want a Baby? Where Is Your License?

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Dateline Dayton — I find it ironic that one week I will mention something in an essay and that subject will appear in the news the next week.  This was true this week, regarding my soapbox issue last Thursday, on requiring a license to have children.

Each morning, I get on the internet to see the news of the day.  One day a posting reported that one in eight children will be harmed by his or her caregiver. Mindboggling.  Never did I think the number would rise that high. 

How long will it take this country to realize we have a real problem?  The problem only will worsen until we take action. The concept is not perfect, but requiring a license to have children would be a great first step.

To drive you must have a license.  The first step is education. The way some people drive, they either bypassed that step or have suffered a mental lapse.  Why can't we have the same requirement to have children?  Surely they are more important than a car. 

For Sale

Last weekend was a continuation of our garage sale, which actually took place the previous weekend.  I was unavailable Thursday and  Friday, but I did help on Saturday.  During the week I found additional items to sell.

Since I have limited space in our new home, and because I don’t want to get rid of my saw, sander or grinder, I removed them from their bases, free up considerable garage space.  One person purchased all three bases, and he  was delighted to get them.  I should have priced them higher than $5.

We had a scene from the manger made of plywood.  Since we can't use it at the condo, I was going to put it in the trash, but I just could not.  When I took it to the sale, I put a Free tag on it. A happy gentleman bought it. He will use it at a club.  Doll sales were the pits again. I did make five little girls happy, though, by giving them each one a doll.

Since we had tickets to the Dayton Dragons baseball game that evening, Pauline and I went back on Sunday to pack the unsold objects.  Last night we took the boxes to my sister's, to store them until her neighbor has his sale.

Mr. Hennessey may be contacted at pmhenn@sbcglobal.net