Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Lady, Your Kid's a Brat
This has been a public service announcement.
OK, understand that the foundation of the construction of an enormous brat is lazy parenting. We don't wanna have to listen to them protest, we don't wanna deal with tantrums, we don't wanna spend all day hovering over them whilst they perform their daily chores. I will openly admit I am guilty of such behavior. There is a critical line, however, that when crossed, raises a child from the levels of "spoiled" into the echelons of Utter Bratdom. That line is when said Lazy Parent choses to ignore the bratty behavior of their child when being wreaked upon the unsuspecting innocent public. You want to spoil your child rotten? You don't mind if he's a brat? That's fine, I won't make you put your big girl panties on. But in exchange for my staying out of your business, I expect you to stay out of mine, and since your child is such an unrepentant miscreant of a brat with no sense of boundaries or propriety, I'd like to get a court order to force you to keep your brat at home.
Jack is a boy of about 4 years old who came shopping with his mother. I was first alerted to his presence when a co-worker announced over her walkie that there was a child rearranging all the clothing and could she please have permission to spank him? A few minutes later I encountered him while putting away a few items. He rounded a corner and looked up at me with enormous doe-eyes, pulling an armful of clothing to his chest. I smiled and said hello, and he turned and bolted in the other direction. A few minutes later my co-worker complained again. From the back of the store, I could hear his mother calling to him, and him shouting repeated refusals to comply. Mother didn't sound terribly concerned, and continued shopping. They suddenly burst into the fitting room, with him leading the way. He marched past me as I asked his mother if she was ready for a fitting room. I got my key and headed for the handicapped stall--I figured Little Jack may need some room to move around, and the handicapped stall is the only one with a door that goes all the way to the floor, which is very useful in preventing toddler escapes. I opened the door, and his mother called to him, "Jack, here, this one." He turned on his heel, and shot the most hateful, evil eye you've ever seen on pre-schooler, and screamed, "NO! I'm going to THIS ONE!", pointing vaguely behind him.
Not being one to indulge such power struggles, and knowing that staying out of this one was going to require a tremendous amount of tongue biting, I opened the door I had originally chosen, turned on MY heel and left without a word. "Jack, come with mommy." "NO!!!" Mommy shut the door and proceded to change with her child locked outside, unsupervised. He discovered that the remaining fitting rooms were locked. No problem, he decided, he'd just get down on the floor and crawl under. But first, he'd check out what everyone else in there was doing. He got a good eyeful, I'm sure. And mom didn't give a rat's ass. When she finally left, I got a better look at him and noticed HUGE dark circles under his eyes. Ah yes, the telltale sign of bratdom: somebody's mommy doesn't make Jack take naps. I'm guessing he doesn't WANT to take naps, right? And why would you make a child nap if they didn't WANT to??
Up at the register, Jack did some more rearranging while Mom talked to her friend, who was aparently as good at ignorning Jack as Mom was. He took down handfuls of necklaces and swung them around his head, hitting them up against the fixtures. I silently waited for one to break so I could explain to her that she'd just purchased a handful of damaged jewelry. He got bored with the golden lasso game and began stuffing bracelets into cuff link boxes and squeezing them shut. "Look mom!" he said, while she waved him off saying, "Yes, that's good."
Lady, your kid is a brat. Your kid is a horrible, horrible brat and it's all your fault. And he's ugly too.
This has been a public service announcement.
OK, understand that the foundation of the construction of an enormous brat is lazy parenting. We don't wanna have to listen to them protest, we don't wanna deal with tantrums, we don't wanna spend all day hovering over them whilst they perform their daily chores. I will openly admit I am guilty of such behavior. There is a critical line, however, that when crossed, raises a child from the levels of "spoiled" into the echelons of Utter Bratdom. That line is when said Lazy Parent choses to ignore the bratty behavior of their child when being wreaked upon the unsuspecting innocent public. You want to spoil your child rotten? You don't mind if he's a brat? That's fine, I won't make you put your big girl panties on. But in exchange for my staying out of your business, I expect you to stay out of mine, and since your child is such an unrepentant miscreant of a brat with no sense of boundaries or propriety, I'd like to get a court order to force you to keep your brat at home.
Jack is a boy of about 4 years old who came shopping with his mother. I was first alerted to his presence when a co-worker announced over her walkie that there was a child rearranging all the clothing and could she please have permission to spank him? A few minutes later I encountered him while putting away a few items. He rounded a corner and looked up at me with enormous doe-eyes, pulling an armful of clothing to his chest. I smiled and said hello, and he turned and bolted in the other direction. A few minutes later my co-worker complained again. From the back of the store, I could hear his mother calling to him, and him shouting repeated refusals to comply. Mother didn't sound terribly concerned, and continued shopping. They suddenly burst into the fitting room, with him leading the way. He marched past me as I asked his mother if she was ready for a fitting room. I got my key and headed for the handicapped stall--I figured Little Jack may need some room to move around, and the handicapped stall is the only one with a door that goes all the way to the floor, which is very useful in preventing toddler escapes. I opened the door, and his mother called to him, "Jack, here, this one." He turned on his heel, and shot the most hateful, evil eye you've ever seen on pre-schooler, and screamed, "NO! I'm going to THIS ONE!", pointing vaguely behind him.
Not being one to indulge such power struggles, and knowing that staying out of this one was going to require a tremendous amount of tongue biting, I opened the door I had originally chosen, turned on MY heel and left without a word. "Jack, come with mommy." "NO!!!" Mommy shut the door and proceded to change with her child locked outside, unsupervised. He discovered that the remaining fitting rooms were locked. No problem, he decided, he'd just get down on the floor and crawl under. But first, he'd check out what everyone else in there was doing. He got a good eyeful, I'm sure. And mom didn't give a rat's ass. When she finally left, I got a better look at him and noticed HUGE dark circles under his eyes. Ah yes, the telltale sign of bratdom: somebody's mommy doesn't make Jack take naps. I'm guessing he doesn't WANT to take naps, right? And why would you make a child nap if they didn't WANT to??
Up at the register, Jack did some more rearranging while Mom talked to her friend, who was aparently as good at ignorning Jack as Mom was. He took down handfuls of necklaces and swung them around his head, hitting them up against the fixtures. I silently waited for one to break so I could explain to her that she'd just purchased a handful of damaged jewelry. He got bored with the golden lasso game and began stuffing bracelets into cuff link boxes and squeezing them shut. "Look mom!" he said, while she waved him off saying, "Yes, that's good."
Lady, your kid is a brat. Your kid is a horrible, horrible brat and it's all your fault. And he's ugly too.
Comments:
Post a Comment
