I went to the grocery store last week and saw a lady with her kid on one of those telephone cord leashes. For those who don‘t remember, the telephone cord connected the base of the “home” telephone to, what was referred to as, a handset. You will find these corded telephone units in various museums throughout the country, also as a decorative piece in hotel rooms and the homes of extremely elderly people who, apparently, don‘t believe in air conditioning.
I simply do not recognize the necessity of a child leash- unless I‘m being tied to a bedpost with it- but that‘s an entirely different story. Not only does it appear as though you’ve adopted some sort of hyperactive pet monkey who likes to touch EVERYTHING on the store shelf, these cords cause serious pedestrian hazards. Before anyone leaps to negative conclusions and assumes a noble mission to “fix” me, it’s noteworthy information that my therapist is now in intensive therapy herself, so give up now.
Anything which facilitates taking the “path of least resistance” where work is concerned makes me an instant fan, so I appreciate hands-free babysitting so that one might be able to more efficiently ignore their child. But the grocery store aisles and malls look like an endless network of rainbow colored slinky’s. 50-thousand feet of child leash creates an obstacle course for those of us who are much too selfish to have children. Plus I have a hard enough time negotiating the aisles of a grocery store as it is, much more so when I find that I’ve stumbled across some sort of midget limbo contest.
By the way, I looked over my grocery list and feel strongly that it’s time to reassess my life. The list read as follows:
Lucky Charms
Milk (which always spoils before I use it)
Bananas (which makes me feel healthy when I eat them with the Lucky Charms)
Beer
Coffee
Condoms
Bleach
Pack of cigs
I’m not sure how to explain that list but the checkout clerk wished me a safe evening as she flashed a nervous smile.
On the subject of safety, I saw a kid riding his bicycle past my house today. For the record, he was not attached to a telephone cord. He was, however, all but encased in a hermetically sealed bio-container. This kid donned knee pads, shin pads, elbow pads, eyelid pads, a nose and mouth guard, protective welder grade goggles and a NASA space shuttle helmet. His bicycle was equipped with a 15-thousand volt headlight, capable of illuminating a concert stage for Paul McCartney and reflective sneakers. The only thing missing was a suit of armor, John Walsh, a team of EMT‘s carrying the kid’s exact blood type and anti-venom in the event that he were suddenly bitten by a Black Mamba.
My favorite is the mom who bundles up her kid in full safety gear, terrified that they might get a hangnail, yet they drive up in a family sedan in front of a crowded schoolyard, with hair rollers and a housecoat, to pick them up. They don’t make protective gear to shield a child from the damage which that incident inflicts.
They also don’t make safety gear to shield a child from walking in to see creepy uncle Earl wearing his wife’s panties while watching a “film”. Not that it happened…it’s hypothetical.
My mom wasn’t overprotective, except when it came to snow or cold weather. I’m not sure why my mom was terrified at the thought of me being in the cold air. Perhaps, in her younger days, she was left for dead in an avalanche…I never bothered to ask. There’s a ridiculous picture of me in our family album from when I was about 6. My mom, being quite proud, would only share this special little photo gem with a new woman in my life who I’d brought to visit for the first time. I’m wearing this overstuffed blue snow suit with a red trimmed hoodie. From the looks of it, I estimate that this snowsuit would protect me from minus 20-degree wind and keep me alive should I be locked in the neighborhood pedophile’s (Uncle Earl‘s) deep freezer. I looked like a hideous throw pillow- the kind you’d find at your grandmother’s house- nestled in the corner of the Victorian couch which was still covered in protective Mafia hit-man plastic.
When did we become such an overprotective society? I remember riding a bicycle as a kid and guess what? I got hurt plenty of times but- to the chagrin of my 6th grade teacher- I survived so that I might continue to make her regret the career path she‘d chosen.
By the way, the only debate I ever won with my parents stemmed from my 6th grade teacher’s comment section of the report card. It read, PRECISELY, as follows:
“Jims citizenship has gone way down.”
My parents asked me to explain my teacher’s summation. I advised that, aside from her incomplete sentence structure, a glaring punctuation error and egregious grammar usage, they might gain a better grasp of the situation should they pay her a quick visit. Upon their return I was acquitted of all charges. Eat it O.J.!!
One of my aunts took overprotective to new heights where my cousins were concerned. They were, how shall I say, “delicate.“ They always wore bright white, just out of the box, sneakers and dark blue perfectly pressed jeans. They appeared as if they doubled as department store mannequins. To this day I’m also certain that they were anatomically incomplete as well.
She wouldn’t let them climb trees or play sports with the rest of us kids, fearing that they might fall and get hurt or tear their clothes.
As an interesting sidebar, it’s relevant to point out that one of her boys incurred 6 stitches as a result of running into a chest of drawers and the other one broke his arm rolling out of bed in his sleep. I rest my case.
Here’s an informative little tid-bit…it’s called “Where are they now?” One of the boys is a 40-year old cross dresser who works for a mini-golf course in Kentucky and the other is a professional mime...seriously. Again, the defense rests.
Is it me or are there some people which we encounter in our daily lives who seem undeservedly invincible? For instance, I saw a young guy who was totally stoned out of his head on a street corner while I waited for my cab. I’m a huuuuge fan of stoners. They unswervingly represent the modern day court Jester. He told me about his idea for a fragrance oil to be smeared under the nose to make one feel better about themselves. I countered with what I considered to be the obvious- that unless EVERYONE used the oil- perhaps a shower might have the same effect and would be most appreciated by all within sniffing distsance. He seemed impressed by my cunning thought process.
Now this guy was harmless and I wish no harm nor do I intend any disrespect, because we NEED people such as this young man to make great advances in creating a bigger, more efficient bong…but, I suspect that he will live to be 1-thousand years old, sleeping on his parent’s couch, while the scientist who is a millisecond away from curing cancer will be struck dead by a freak meteor shower.
I know a guy who takes painstaking precautions with the welfare of his child where school sports are concerned. I rode with them one time as he dropped the kid off at soccer practice; his boy was wearing the equivalent of a bank vault. I’m not sure if my friend expects that soccer matches include gunplay these days or not but, in the event that they do, junior will be well protected. The satire of this is that the entire time we were in transit my pal voraciously read and sent text messages. At least the kid would have fared well had we careened off a cliff.
Talk about throwing caution to the wind…texting while driving. I once was pulled over, I swear, for driving 15-miles under the speed limit because I was texting. The officer was polite and asked if I was okay, to which I exercised complete honesty. I told him that I was trying to slow the effects of global warming. This didn’t seem to work. I can’t fully express how embarrassing it is to get a ticket for driving UNDER the speed limit. My grandpa would’ve been proud though.
As a kid, we held BB-gun wars and came out unscathed. With the exception of my friend Phillip. He received a pretty nasty graze to his right cheek which left a scar, but it gave him character and we’re all convinced that it’s why he had sex before any of us other boys…with his rugged, Easyrider look. I would have shot myself in the face had I’d known that’s all it took to get girls to have sex with me in high school. Bastard!
From those who are much smarter that I, the medical journals are quick to point out that experiencing danger and the consequences therein as part of being a child makes for a well-rounded adult. As my grandmother said, “Kids are kids…they get hurt.”
It’s been proven that overprotected kids have extreme difficulty in overcoming fears as an adult. Not me…I got hurt plenty of times as a kid and it prepared me for dangers in my adult life, such as, dating women from the West Bank, eating at corner hotdog vending carts, one-night stands, doing tequila shots on an empty stomach and betting the full pot while standing on a “soft 16” in blackjack. I’m kidding, I would never date women from the West Bank…again.
I don't have kids, but I AM a kid and I'm proud of it. If I did have children, I understand that, as much as I would want to hold them and protect them from physical pain and heartache 24/7, they will fall and get hurt...in more ways than one. Lest anyone forget, getting hurt doesn't end at adulthood. So, whether it's my child or my grown "child", it's my job to be there to bandage them and assure them that everything will be okay. And, I look forward to it.
By the way, you can all rest a little easier since Uncle Earl is living in his new digs...for 20 to 25 years.
copyright Pontchartrain Press 2010
