PARENTS GONE STUPID

One night a week, The Queen indulges in girls night out with her best friend.  Basically, this is a torrid affair of attempting to enjoy a quiet meal in a restaurant and catching up on gossip.  My idea of a good time does not include the following tale of parents gone stupid accompanied by an 8 year old child that would scare Stephen King. 

Crosby (yes, that is his name) spends the majority of the meal throwing utensils, food, condiments all over the place and smacking me in the back of my head at every opportunity.   Every time he did this, his idiot mother would say, in a voice barely above a whisper, “Crosby, stop that, please.”  At this point, we should have asked to move away from Crosby, but my interest was peaked as to Crosby’s fate.  Granted I have nearly grown children, but if I recall correctly, when they were 8 years old this behavior would have warranted a trip to the restroom where they would have received the knowledge of a come to Jesus meeting. 

This melee continues for 20 minutes and finally I believe the mom is about to discipline her child.  Did you know the word discipline comes from the word disciple (to teach)?  Crosby’s mother is not aware of that…keep reading.  She tells him, “Crosby, if you don’t stop that right now, we are not going to get  the new Power Ranger.”  I wish at this point I could add an exclaimation point or bold typed those words, but her voice was incapable of being strong and authoritative. Ever optimistic, I thought she was finally going to take charge.

Does the threat of no action figure strike fear into his heart?  No, it does not.  He continues his utensil and condiment juggling, adding throwing ice cubes at the waitress to his act .  Finally, mom announces that he will not be receiving his action figure for his continued silliness.  I kid you not, she called it silliness.  With that proclamation his bottom lip trembled, and tears almost filled his eyes.  This child should receive an Academy Award for Best Manipulation of Person Posing As A Parent.  Take a bow, Crosby.  You are about to win the prize.

Mom spots the tear, this is where my best friend had to hold my legs to keep me from climbing over the booth and striking the mom in the head with the ketchup bottle.  Mom pulls Crosby in to her loving arms to comfort his toy deprivation act.  She tells him, ”oh, don’t cry, honey, we’ll still go get the Power Ranger.  Don’t cry.”

Let’s see, what has Crosby learned today? There are no consequences for my actions.  I suspect he knew this before fate landed him in the booth next to mine in this restaurant.  Really, there are parents that I must restrain myself from smacking the shit out of, see now I have degenerated to bad language.  You might say this is one of my pet peeves.  No really, this makes my head want to imploded or become an advocate of corporal punishment, purely to make me feel better.  So when I see brats, like Crosby, I feel completely justified in blaming the parent. Blame this mom, I will.  Gladly.

Parents like these are afraid of being the bad guy, not being liked or actually daring to say NO to these children.  Let me say it again, you are not their friend, you are their parent.  For some, apparently from a biological aspect only.  After 18 years these overindulged selfish brats will be unleashed into adult society, we should be afraid, very afraid. 

Now if you want an example of a parenting hero, read here.  She is totally, my parental hero.  Chris, I bow at your parental superiority.