Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

Sometimes the unexpected presents a most pleasant surprise.  Friends I haven’t seen in a few years came to town to treat their daughter and two grandchildren to an outing at the Desert Museum. That evening when I met them at a nearby restaurant, and Grandma limped in saying, “I need a drink,” I knew it had been a long, exhausting day. 

The grandson was six years old and the granddaughter was four. These children were either aliens from another planet, or actors hired for the occasion. They didn’t know how to whine, and no one had ever taught them to scream, run around a restaurant, or to interrupt a conversation. They behaved like regular people, and acted as if they were used to sitting at a table and not feeding at a trough. After dinner, this brother and sister shared a couple of books and appeared to like each other. 

On the other hand, I recently attended a Bat Mitzvah (a coming of age ceremony) where a 13-year-old girl was given the honor of leading a religious service, after completing a year of difficult study. A large contingent of relatives attended from all over the country, and family and friends were thrilled to share this memorable event. 

However, one member of the family forgot that her little girl was not the center of attention, and as soon as the service commenced, the loud crying, whining and tantrums began (from the child, not the mother). The Bat Mitzvah girl had the composure to ignore the child’s protestations, but I contemplated throwing a net over the annoying kid. Her grandfather traipsed up and down the aisle several times to call attention to the problem under the guise of helping, but the little girl screamed that she didn’t want him. She wanted her mother, who eventually carried her out of the sanctuary, and then brought her back. And, like a progressive rash, the out and back and out and back tumultuous procession continued until the service was over. 

I don’t know which of the men sitting in that aisle was the father who had dropped the seed to produce this annoying creature, because no man stood up and admitted, “She’s my unruly brat, and I am stuck with her.” 

Don’t get me wrong. I like most children. But, when I am sitting at lunch, at a lovely restaurant, looking at a lawn set up for a game of croquet, I don’t want to see children hitting each other in the head with a mallet, while their mothers nibble on finger sandwiches. Here’s a newsflash. All children aren’t gifted, no matter what their parents think. And, “No!” is a perfectly acceptable word.

My grandfather used to say, “If all babies are sweet, where do all the obnoxious adults come from?” Think about it. 

Esther Blumenfeld (sugar and spice)