I think this would be a good opportunity to clarify the record on a few things. It’s not that I don’t like children; it’s that I don’t like your children. To be specific, I don’t like the way your children behave. To be more specific, I don’t like the way that your inept parenting has created an army of pocket-sized hooligans (in certain parts of the Spanish speaking world, they say “bichos” which translates to “critters”) scuttling about under foot causing untold spoilage to the world’s supply of seersucker fashions. Parents these days seem to have decided to raise their children free-range, allowing them to pitter patter around any locale no matter how public, or crowded, or dangerous and to rub their grubby hands all over anything that catches their fancy no matter how shiny, or pointy, or mine.
In the event that parents are simply misinformed about the quality of their child-rearing skills, let’s take a moment to provide some helpful feedback.
Your children are not cute. I know you thought that mewling, puking bundle of joy you brought home from the hospital was so adorable that you could just eat it up, but you are the only one. No one else in the room was wearing their pregnancy goggles; they were just glad to see you had quit craving Chunky Monkey with roasted red peppers on top and didn’t want to say anything that might knock you off the wagon again. The consequence of this perception disconnect is that you think watching your little apple dumpling “explore its surrounds” is cheek-pinching cute, but, here again, you’re out on a limb on this one. Knocking over every piece of breakable merchandise that’s fewer than 3 feet off the ground is not cute. Squealing loud enough to puncture my eardrum whenever you shove that stupid noise-making toy in its face (which you insist on doing every time you find yourself someplace the child would find boring (which of course is because the child is not supposed to be there)) is not cute. And toddling around a busy restaurant with hot plates and sharp knives is not cute (and it’s not even funny, this is just plain dangerous).
No one is impressed by your parenting. I think this is the issue that really gets us to the crux of your pathology. I always see the parents with the worst behaved children making the biggest show of what great parents they are. But this only exacerbates the underlying problem which is that you pay more attention to appearances and to other people than to your own child. You shower your child with excessive praise whenever it poops its pants; or you try to engage in calm, rational pro-con analysis when the little monster has hoisted a glass jar of tomato sauce over its head with a terrifying gleam in its eye. These would be perfect “teachable” moments for you to step in and be a parent rather than a two-bit child psychologist. How would a good parent have handled this situation? “Madison! [it’s always Madison] You put that down or I will slap you into next Tuesday!” No fuss, no muss. And there’s no need to worry about onlookers calling child welfare on you. With so many kids with stupid names being raised by so many parents with a penchant for giving their kids stupid names, they’ll never be able to track you down.
Lest anyone think that I have just been drinking too much haterade (shout out to “red” for that one), I’ll end on a positive note by talking about kids I can stand slash find mildly amusing. There are of course kids whose parents made them dress up like adults out of a need for some sort demented Gypsy Rose Lee kind of vicarious fulfillment. I also heart the kids who are a little too honest about their parents’ private business to strangers; like those Chewy granola bar commercials where the kid is at a wedding and goes, “My mom says she can't believe you wore white." It’s not that this latter category is particularly well behaved; I just think they offer a deliciously ironic sort of revenge for the sloppy upbringing of which the general public usually bears the brunt. Now if only every parent would shove a granola bar in their kid’s mouth when they started acting up, the world would be a happier place.
In the event that parents are simply misinformed about the quality of their child-rearing skills, let’s take a moment to provide some helpful feedback.
Lest anyone think that I have just been drinking too much haterade (shout out to “red” for that one), I’ll end on a positive note by talking about kids I can stand slash find mildly amusing. There are of course kids whose parents made them dress up like adults out of a need for some sort demented Gypsy Rose Lee kind of vicarious fulfillment. I also heart the kids who are a little too honest about their parents’ private business to strangers; like those Chewy granola bar commercials where the kid is at a wedding and goes, “My mom says she can't believe you wore white." It’s not that this latter category is particularly well behaved; I just think they offer a deliciously ironic sort of revenge for the sloppy upbringing of which the general public usually bears the brunt. Now if only every parent would shove a granola bar in their kid’s mouth when they started acting up, the world would be a happier place.
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