"Wrong again, Dad. A guy from the Department of Health and Welfare came to our school today. Major assembly. He talked about how next year they're rolling out a new program. Get this: ten thousand bucks, full college tuition, and a guaranteed government job for anyone who's married by eighteen. Boys, of course. And another ten thousand for each kid you have. Pretty sweet, huh?" Sweet as snake venom, I think. "You're not getting married at eighteen, kiddo." A smile works its way onto Steven's face, only a touch of a smile that isn't joined by his eyes. It's really not a smile at all. "You don't have anything to do with it, Mom. It's Dad's decision." Maybe this is how it happened in Germany with the Nazis, in Bosnia with the Serbs, in Rwanda with the Hutus. I've often wondered about that, about how kids can turn into monsters, how they learn that killing is right and oppression is just, how in one single generation the world can change on its axis into a place that's unrecognizable. Easily, I think, and push out my chair. "I'm going to call my parents," I say. I tried yesterday and got no answer. This morning, no answer. Before dinner, no answer. It will be late over there, nearly midnight, but I want to talk to my mother. It's been way too long.
Christina Dalcher, “Vox”
