I can’t fucking beleive it. I stopped in a great little pizza joint for a couple of slices for lunch today. It’s a small place, mostly carry-out, with a small seating area. As I was eating, a family came in: mom, dad, two boys (looked to be twins) about 6 years old, and a little kid, maybe 2 years old.
One of the boys started whining. The whining escalated. Pretty soon he was crying–that outraged I’m - not - getting - whatever - my - widdle - heart - desires wailing. The parents did nothing. They ignored the kid, conversing occasionally with his brother, who was just looking bored at the whole scene.
The kid’s crying set off the little kid, who began crying, too. Not tantrum-crying, but what’s - all - this - noise, I’m - freaked - out crying.
The parents continued to do nothing. They didn’t try to comfort the little kid. They didn’t tell the big kid to shut the hell up and act his age. They didn’t take either kid outside where their wailing would not reverberate throughout the small shop. They didn’t ask the pizza guy for boxes and take their meal to go.
The big kid was screaming over and over again, “I want to go home!” The little kid was screaming over and over again, “Ma-ma! Ma-ma!”
Conversation became difficult. I was alone, but the couple at the next table had to raise their voices to make themselves heard.
This went on for ten fucking minutes. I kid you not. Then suddenly the big kid cut it out, like there was some prearranged signal. One second, he’s giving his lungs the full workout, the next he’s quietly and contentedly munching on a peice of pizza. The little kid quit when his brother stopped, looked around, confused, for a little while, then began gnawing the piece of crust his mother offered him.
Great jiminy-jumpin’ ghost of Jesus fucking Christ on a popsicle stick! What is the goal here? Is this some part of a plan for raising sensitive, responsible children? The result had better be fucking hyper-intelligent wonder-geniuses of surpassing artistic talent and Betazoid-level empathic perceptions, because in the meantime, you look like a couple of ill-mannered, inconsiderate, irresponsible, wussy-assed, jerkoff hippies. Neither I nor the other people trying to enjoy our pizza signed up to be part of your little experiment in child-rearing.
If your kids have problems, and under the advice of some professional head-shrinker you can’t yell at them or, apparently, enforce discipline in any fucking way, then fucking deal with it in private. Pick up the goddamn pizza and take it home with you, let your kids scream their heads off there!
Aside from my aching eardrums, it’s the kids I feel sorry for. Who the hell knows, maybe they’ll grow up prefectly normal, or maybe they’ll end up spoiled brats or fucking psychopaths–but for now, they have no idea how to behave appropriately when there are other people around!
There is just no fucking excuse. If your kids cannot behave in public, or they can behave, but you’re not willing to make sure they do, then, when it’s not absolutely necessary, don’t bring them the fuck out in public and inflict them on polite members of motherfucking society!