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As my kids get older, my tolerance level for parents who have no control over their young kids in public shrinks. Not only have I been seeing it more and more, but for some bizarre reason I have been hearing about it from other people as well. Great. As if witnessing it in person wasn’t annoying enough.
A buddy and customer of mine at a high end music store frequented by professional
musicians relayed a truly nightmarish account along these lines the other day. A guitar player who came in for some gear decided that bringing his three young daughters with him would be a good idea.
These little devils ranged in age from approximately 4 to 7 and from the second they arrived, according to
my friend, these kids had either gotten into daddy’s speed or were in the midst of a massive sugar high. The hapless dad had no idea of how to control them and was so distracted that he and
my friend couldn’t even complete their business.
Commerce aside, I can’t think of any place, short of a china shop, that you would not want to take three little hellions to than a high-end music store. One little bump and you could topple a piece of equipment that would wipe out one, if not all three, of their college funds. If dad is going to continue this tradition I hope he lands a good job, and by good I mean high paying, gig.
While hapless dad just seemed to be out matched and under qualified to handle his brood, the ones that I can’t stand are the parents who either have given up or don’t care. They let little Johnny run around as though he owns the entire universe. Little Johnny, king of all he surveys and can reach, the world is his to destroy, kind of like a three foot tall Godzilla.
The other day, as I stood in line at Sav-On at the photo department, which as usual was the only line open despite having seven people in line, I watched as little Johnny first dismantled a display of perfectly organized DVD’s while his mom stood idly by less than a foot away. After his destruction of the DVD’s was complete, and mom had said nothing, he redirected his focus to the hanging batteries in front of the register. He pulled them from their hangers and thrust them to the floor laughing as he did so. As mom bent over to pick one up and tried to replace it she soon gave up as it was her turn to check out.
Little Johnny wasn’t through yet, not by a long shot. He now turned his attention to the stationary and binders that were at the end of a nearby aisle. His trashing of what was once a perfect stack only took him a moment. Now that mom was done checking out she uttered the one and only instruction to little Johnny since their arrival, “Let’s go.” These words came none too soon for the staff at Sav-On, who if I’m not mistaken were organizing a lynch mob. As little Johnny left the store, Sav-On was in the same condition that Godzilla had left Tokyo.
You know I don’t care how you want to raise your kids as long as it doesn’t impact my life. If you want to raise rude little punks go for it. You will be dealing with it later on when you’re paying for the clean up for the graffiti they spray painted on the Rosemead overpass in the middle of the night because you didn’t place any restrictions on them as they were growing up.
There is another way that these little monsters are being molded. They mimick their parents’ bad behavior. You know, monkey see, monkey do. Unfortunately one of the places this lesson is being learned more often than not is on the fields of dreams, the Little League fields.
This year my son is playing in what is called the Junior League, which is a two-year stepping-stone program to prepare him for playing in high school. Unlike other programs, like Pony League, it is played at the same distances and for the most part the same rules as high school and college.
This gives its players a head start when it comes to trying out for the high school team. By all accounts, from what I had heard, these next two years were supposed to be very low key and a walk in the park compared to the oft times intense world of the younger divisions in Little League. Well at least it’s supposed to be.
You see by the time you get to this level of play the number of players has dwindled. Either through players leaving who have developed other interests or discovered they didn’t really have a feel for the game. When this happens the leagues involved have less teams, and they do what is called interlocking, or playing teams from another league. It’s kind of like a temporary marriage between the leagues but you don’t have to split things 50/50 when you break up. By doing this it keeps it interesting by not having to play the same three or four teams in your given league. Instead you are playing seven other teams once you’ve interlocked. Get it? OK.
This year we are interlocking with Alhambra. Originally we were supposed to interlock with South Pasadena but all of their cars broke down so they couldn’t make it. But Alhambra seemed like a good choice and for the first few weeks the marriage seemed to be working out. The parking at their park sucked, but the field was nice.
Then I began to notice a thread that seemed to connect all of the Alhambra teams. That was the constant mean spirited taunts coming from the players on the opposing teams. Not being one of those parents who are comfortable sitting during the entire game, I cruise the field between dugouts. There was definitely a difference between the demeanors of the teams.
Soon I began to notice that the obnoxious behavior was not just contained in the dugouts. It was the parents in the stands as well as the managers. Especially in the way the managers were talking to their players when things were not going well on the field. I know that our manager, John “Doc” Halladay, gets frustrated, but when he does, he doesn’t take it out on his players. He just goes home and kicks the cat.
Soon after the end of the first half we were playing a game at our field and the gloves came off. One of the parents on the opposing team came unglued due his not understanding that the rules pertaining to time at one field sometimes don’t apply at a different field, began a belligerent tirade. Screaming at the top of his lungs at parents, players and couches alike. At one point he stood at the fence giving the finger to our manager who coolly ignored him.
This man was told repeatedly by the umpires to quiet down, but unfortunately we had umpires who had the balls of gerbils and they did nothing. Setting what I am sure was an example of poor sportsmanship that his son will never forget, this classless buffoon egged his parents and coaches on in a nasty display of what not to do at a Little League game. Had cooler heads on our side of the field not prevailed you probably would have seen it on the evening news.
So parents, it doesn’t matter whether your kids learn by your inaction or by imitation, what matters is that when they finally leave your care the problem is no longer yours, it is all of ours.
The Shrub Speaks: Because we acted, torture chambers are closed. Wisconsin, May 7, 2004
B.D.’s Response: Because of our actions. the torture chambers are once again reopened.
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