I am not a parent. Frankly, I don’t know how parents do it. Or why they do it for that matter but to each their own. And because I’m not a parent, I try not to judge them. It doesn’t always work out that way but I swear I do try. For example, when kids are screaming their brains out in a grocery store or kicking and rolling around on a sidewalk because they can’t have another ice cream cone, I don’t judge. I simply assume that the kid is having a bad day and the parents are probably having an even worse one. After all, I can barely police my own actions, I could not imagine trying to control the actions of another living being all day, every day.
Sometimes, though. Sometimes when I am sitting in a crowded theatre trying to ignore an overtired, screaming infant, I do have to wonder what was going through a parent’s mind when they decided it would be a good idea to bring their baby to an eleven o’clock showing of an R rated movie. I have also had to stop myself from asking questions like, “What part of you thought it would be okay to bring a five year-old to a sushi restaurant two hours before midnight?” I mean, what could possibly be on a menu comprised of different kinds of raw fish that will appeal to a child’s palette?
See, I get that kids should not at any point in their childhood be expected to behave like adults, and if I want to leave my home during the day, I need to respect their right to exist. But, here’s the thing. Isn’t there a time and place? Like, if I go to dinner before 9pm, I should expect to share the restaurant with families full of kids. Likewise, if I put off dinner until after 9 or 10pm and I avoid family restaurants, or I put off my movie going until the late show and choose movies that have adult content, shouldn’t I be able to enjoy these experiences without overtired, misbehaving children? Am I wrong in assuming this?
I went to a restaurant at 10pm a while ago. The boyfriend and I both left the table to wash our hands before eating. When I returned, a little kid sat at my seat, finishing off my drink. “What the hell are you doing?” I shouted. The kid immediately started bawling and the parents looked up, startled. There were at least three other kids at their table and one crawling around under the it. The mom grabbed her son and begrudgingly told me she would buy me another drink. “But that’s not the problem! There was three ounces of booze in there, and your son just sucked it down! Is he going to be okay?” This bit of information did not make the mom happy. She acted like it was my fault for leaving such an enticing, fruity looking beverage unattended. And maybe it was my fault but I’m not a parent, how am I supposed to know these things? Maybe if she took her kid to The Spaghetti Factory at 7pm, she would sit next to a table full of people who know better than to leave a triple tequila sunrise at their table while they go tot the washroom. This is why I try to avoid situations that put me in direct contact with children; I’m afraid I’ll inadvertently kill them.
I even do my grocery shopping late at night. I fucking love 24 hour grocery stores! I can wander the aisles without children or adults who act like children (except for the occasional drunk or high person) getting in my way. There are pretty much zero crowds, children or otherwise, at Loblaw’s at midnight. Which is why this next experience threw me off guard.
The boyfriend and I were in the grocery store minding our own business. He was in the next aisle, perusing the Ben & Jerry’s selection when a little jack ass kid turns down my aisle pushing his mom’s cart, his mother trailing behind. He races the cart around, knocking into the shelves on purpose, backing up and then knocking into the opposite shelves, leaving a trail of fallen products in his wake. The mom lets him do his thing, ignoring the mess and occasionally catching up to the cart to toss items in it. When he gets to where I am, he starts ramming his cart into mine while laughing like this is a hysterical thing to do – once, twice, three times. I reach out and firmly grab the cart. Just as firmly, I say, “No. This is not how you act in public.” The mom gives me a dirty look, I stare her down.
She finally shrugs and says, “Kids. What can you do?” At this point, the kid is ramming my cart again. My boyfriend appeared just in time to hear me respond, “I know exactly what you mean. We used to wonder what to do with our kids.”
“Then we beat them to death,” the boyfriend quipped, without missing a beat.
“Problem solved!” I offered my most radiant smile.
The kid stopped ramming my cart. The mom’s eyes widened. Oh sure, she acted disturbed but I bet she was thinking about it.
