Growing up, I was TERRIFIED to act out in public. Having a father who is a homicide detective will do this to you. For example...
It's 1985...I'm 4 years old...I'm at the beach with the family...I'm being an asshole and throwing sand around, hitting people...my father tells me to stop...I do not...
Now, being the large-headed weirdo kid with a deep voice that I was, I thought I was the fucking man, so I kept doing what I was doing. Long story short, I spent some quality time sitting inside my old man's Chevette, staring at the beach as my brother frolicked around and got a Bubbalo Bill or some other awesome shit from the ice cream truck. Needless to say, I learned my lesson that day. But looking back, I'm glad that I had strict rules growing up, because it now gives me the opportunity to berate your kids for being little fucking shitheads. And make no mistake about it, many of them are, without a doubt, little motherfucking shitheads.
Before I begin, let me first say that not all kids are terrible. I see kids that are well behaved and I want to give them money. But that would be creepy. I guess marveling at them from afar is creepy enough, so handing them a dollar might make things weird. Either way, I felt it necessary to say that not all kids are awful. Just 97% are.
Now, for those of you who cannot teach discipline...
Your kids are not cute. That molar-rattling scream that sounds like Adam Lambert coming across a clearance sign in the window of American Apparel? NOT FUCKING CUTE. Letting your one-year-old wobble down the subway stairs as you delicately guide them while 7,000 people are bottle-necked behind you, forced to watch as the subway doors close and you clap like an idiot because you basically dragged the kid down the stairs - NOT FUCKING CUTE. I don't care that your fucking kid can walk. I DON'T CARE. Stop pretending the world revolves around your kid, pick him/her up, and carry them down the fucking stairs before they get trampled. I NEED TO GET ON THE NEXT TRAIN SO I CAN GET TO MY CART GUY BEFORE SOMEONE BUYS THE LAST SESAME BAGEL AND I'M FORCED TO EAT PLAIN!
I work in a high traffic area. There are literally thousands upon thousands of tourists wandering around my building. What I don't understand is, how do these roving families of high-socked, fanny-pack-equipped dummies let their kids roam free? It's not like this is Canada. This is New York City. People get stabbed in the face with jigsaws for no reason. And I know that I personally almost plow over about thirty wandering kids a day, and I'm barely walking a block. What about kidnappers? As a kid I always assumed that I would be kidnapped if I wandered away from my parents. I clung to them like B.O. on a fat electrician. But not these kids; they're hanging from the building molding, rolling on car hoods, playing in the revolving doors, tap-dancing in traffic - it's insane. Now, how do we solve this minor inconvenience? Well, I once saw a mom with her kid on a leash. And it wasn't one of those stupid wrist-to-wrist phone-cord leashes, nope, it was a fucking waist leash. This should be city code. I would love to see some schmuck from Idaho strolling down the street with his nine kids on a leash like he's a fucking chariot driver in ancient Rome. I would probably buy him a hot dog for being such an innovative parent.
Kids on the subway are awful, too. They have absolutely no sense of space. They spin around on the poles, bump into people's legs, step on feet, lay down on the benches...and what do their parents do? They stare off into space and pretend they aren't dbags while an old lady stares longingly at the five seats their kid is taking up and struggles to not keel over. I would pay exactly $100 to see someone just plop down on top of the kid. The scream alone would be worth the cash.
I also cringe when I go out to eat and see a family of fourteen sit down at the booth next to me. I hate eating at restaurants to begin with, but when I see those little fuckers coming, weaving in and out of tables, giggling and screeching as their parents play the ignorance card and stare into space like De Niro in "Awakenings", I contemplate taking my steak knife and committing Seppuku so I don't end up spending the remainder of my night wishing an asteroid would come crashing through the ceiling and obliterate their table just so I can enjoy some motherfucking Chicken Scarpariello.
I think it all stems back to parents bending over backwards to please their spoiled fucking kids. Why punish them when you can give in, feed them sugar, and then get annoyed when they grow up, develop a recreational coke habit, flunk out of college, and start dating a ex-stripper named Big Sexy who has three kids and a mortgage she can't pay?
So yeah, let your kids do whatever you want. At least you know you'll have Big Sexy to look forward to - that should make for an interesting Thanksgiving.
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