Provided you are not forcibly stopped, you can do anything at all.

Kicking out someone's aspirations, casting them aside, forbidding their friends from contact, alienating anyone you see as unsuitable. Not a way forward is that. Why would you always be right? Why would anyone always be right? Not possible. We cannot, some of us, see what is 'right', see what is good positive beneficial enhancing the lives of bettering their world improving their visions, we cannot take it upon ourselves to see any of those things, we may THINK them and pretend to understand them. But we cannot know them for sure. We are not enpowered or qualified to do so gerrit? Your children are not your children.... (Gibril) They are not your slings and arrows, they are their own manifestation of what they think life is going to be for them, what they hope it will be and what they desire it to be for their children. GOD help us if we begin to think for their children too, our grand children. Then, we try now to speak think dictate for everyone around us, including the cat! We convince even the elders that we, the youngers, have better views and opinions. Young is right right, always right right? What nonsense it is and was it always so filled with self-delusion, note now that it's brimming over and spilling on the faded yellow parchment of the brain, once crisp and white and clean . It is an arrogance that defiles others, and it demeans crushes and reduces to zero the way we will be perceived, when we pass, as we fade. By all. And it demeans one's own self ..... and humanity too Grandad Ryan wrote thoughts on the back of fag packets I have some of those and I have his gun metal coloured, silver not quite, pocket watch, without a chain, 1938. When it ticks, as it is wont unprompted to do, the tobacco stained odours of Grandad drift back through this window, closed or open in they silently seep. Then I see it, the Mile End Road to the busy busy docks,the winter night ..... Well, long and far into his bitter building site London watchman's hours he pondered For it was far too cold to sleep you see, bitter, fingers cramped in double glove, the parafine heater only wimpered, it never glowed. You might do well to ponder, but you will need to be guided. The Priest?