Please Curb Your Child

[This was originally posted September 27, 2007, then was wiped out along with the rest of my blog due to a hacker attack earlier this year. I'm re-posting it because it was one of my favorites.]

Hi,

I am not sure if you remember me. When you went to meet your friend for coffee today, pushing your 3-year-old daughter in a stroller, you may not have noticed me. I was the guy in the corner, writing quietly in his notebook. I realize you probably didn't see me. After all, I wasn't taking up much room or making any noise, really. Let me see if I can give you some more details just in case you need your memory refreshed.

After you and your friend took up both of the tables to my left and began visiting, I was the guy whose leg your daughter was kicking as she lay down under the table screaming, "Momma! MOMMA!"

After you placed your stroller squarely between one of your tables and mine, I was the guy who had to wheel it out of the way, just so I could get out of my seat to go and use the bathroom. And do you remember shortly after that, when your daughter was spinning around on the floor with her legs and arms out wide, screaming, "Momma Momma LOOK AT ME I'm a top I'm a SPINNING TOP HAHAHAHAHA," and you and your friend were pointing at her and laughing and talking about how cute she was? Remember that? Well, I was the guy who was standing over your daughter, waiting patiently for her to move so I could return to my seat. Yes, that one. The one you glanced at and ignored. The one who waited patiently for your daughter to move because you didn't tell her to do so yourself. Yeah, that was me.

And then there was when you finally left, and you had trouble pushing your stroller over that soft lump on the floor, and you pushed harder until you could make it over. Do you remember that? Well, that soft lump was my foot, and I just happened to be attached to it.

I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you planned to have this child, and were happy that she came into the world. I'll also assume that the girl's father was similarly thrilled. The image of the two of you sitting and deciding what the baby would be named and picking out wallpaper for the nursery is really a charming one. It's sweet. I'm sure you had a wonderful time. It's an incredible thing, taking on the responsibility for another life, preparing for all of the joys and all of the hardships that such a decision brings. The thing is, I wasn't part of this planning. I did not receive any of the joy one gets in exchange for bringing one such as your daughter into the world. I got nothing. I was not there when you excitedly realized you were pregnant. I did not carry the child for nine months and give birth to a living being bearing the genetic material of myself and my beloved partner. I didn't even have sex with you and get you pregnant. In fact, I did not even know you had a child until this very day. I don't even know you. We are strangers. I've initiated no deliberate action to suggest that I need, want, or welcome your child's presence in my life. All I did to bring you into my life was decide that I was going to grab a coffee and get some much-needed writing done. Your baby wasn't part of that bargain.

Had I wanted the challenge of working through screeches and giggles, around flailing miniature arms and legs, and in spite of uninvited physical contact from rambunctious juveniles, I would have decided to spend the day writing at Chuck E. Cheese's. But I didn't. In fact, I decided to go somewhere quiet that caters towards adults. They don't have any kids drinks, or toys, or even a "kid size" for when little ones do show up. They don't have coloring books or crayons. The place is meant for adults. Of course, I am not suggesting that children are not allowed there, or that they shouldn't be. By all means, bring your kid if you must! What I mean is that people go to such places without the expectation of there being children. Nothing in the environment suggests to them that they should even prepare themselves for being around kids. This means that it is not an appropriate place to allow your child to run wild and unchecked. It means that when you choose to bring your child with you, you also choose to take on the responsibility of ensuring that her behavior meets certain standards. You are expected to pay attention.

Now, I realize you may still not remember me very well. I think I can guess why. Sometimes, it's hard to imagine that there are other people in this world besides you and your child, isn't it? And it's even harder to imagine that someone doesn't find your child to be as special as you do. You probably think that your daughter is a good deal cuter than most other children, and more intelligent. So, do you remember when I gave you that slightly annoyed look, and you responded with a look that said, "What do you want me to do, she's just a kid? And she's so cute, isn't she?" Remember that? Let me give you a reality check, babe. There are over six billion people on this planet. An amazing 30% of them are under the age of 14. That's a lot of kids, and I don't have the time or the patience to find every one of them cute and special. Your child is just one out of about two billion as far as I am concerned. Jesus may "love the little children," as the popular Sunday School song says. Good for him. Luckily for me, I am not Jesus. Get over yourself.

I would have even settled for a brief apology as you left, some recognition that you and your spawn had disturbed me in some way. Had you done only that, and no more, I would have willingly forgiven. Instead, you ran over my foot.

Screw you.

Have a nice day.