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Open letter to the mother sitting in front of me at last week’s "Cradle 2 the Grave screening:

Your daughter seemed to be about eight years old, with her white dress and her hair done with braids. I wonder what she thought when the people in this R-rated movie kidnapped a little girl about her age, duct-taped her mouth shut and shoved her into a van, planning to kill her later.

Did your child get an eyeful when Gabrielle Union stripped down to only her under garments and started to lap dance on a lip-licking hood she was trying to distract?

Was she paying attention when Jet Li broke opponents bones with a vivid snap, or when DMX smashed a villain’s head into a cement wall? Did she catch Anthony Anderson mowing people down in a tank? Was she facing front when a nuclear device ate away a man’s face from the inside?

If she was listening carefully, I know she caught all the crucial dialogue, every grunted "MF" word tossed her way. I’m sure she’ll assimilate those into her dialogue in the near future.

Of course, you can take comfort in the fact that you weren’t alone: I saw more than a dozen kids her age around the theater, all soaking up images that were meant for people about a decade older (actually for nobody moral)

So here’s a tip to everybody: If you’re too cheap, lazy or clueless to hire a baby sitter when you want to see R-rated movies, stay home.

If you can’t do that, don’t be surprised if your little girl (or guy) grows up to be a thug, because you started exposing her to degrading images when she was still in elementary school. And don’t blame society, either. Blame the person you see in the mirror.