Since I’ve brought up the subject of clueless parenting, let me add some personal experience that re-enforces my belief in a National Parent Fitness Exam, of which the media can create some cutesy acronym like NAPARFEX or The Dumbass Test.
Last night was the final home game for the Trenton Thunder, the local Yankee AA farm team. The Mrs. and I bought a six-pack of tickets and this was game six of our package. The seats were excellent, three rows back from the field in the first base line. I’m not boasting — it’s important to the story. Well, maybe I am boasting a little. Anyway…
Last night must have also been Bring Your Child Under Three Years Old Night. The place was crawling with toddlers. As we made our way to our seats we noticed a little tow-headed blond guy sitting in one of our seats. This is not a big deal as the games are rarely sold out and there are always seats around one’s ticketed seats, so we sat in some empty chairs behind the kid and his Mom.
Well, the little kid turned out to be possessed and Mom was one of these in the ozone yuppie Moms who thinks having a rational, calm conversation with a ranting, screaming three-year-old about his feelings is the proper way to go. Let me give you the highlights.
– The kid had a baseball – a hardball – and kept tossing it in the air and letting it hit the concrete floor. Amazingly it didn’t land on anybody’s head. After about half a dozen tosses, Mommy Dearest decides to pick up the ball and hold it. Little Damian has a fit. I mean a FIT where he’s landing punches on his mother. Mom….does not react. At all. After about 10 minutes she takes little Farquhar for a walk. She comes back holding him while he’s munching on a bag of chips.
– The kid discovers the stadium chairs are spring-loaded so the seat part folds up when you stand up. Now I understand the attraction of a three-year-old to spring action things. Junior, however, believes he his part of the chair manufacturer testing team and proceeds to stand on the seat, facing backward, and jump up and down slamming the seat into sitting position. Repeatedly. Mom…does not react until ten or twelve jumps have occurred at which time she pulls him into her lap and snuggles with him. This act is repeated about half a dozen times throughout the game.
– The kid, late in the game, is left to wander up and down the rows of people who have left rather than commit homicide. Keep in mind that we are sitting three rows from the field. Junior discovers a discarded 48 ounce, hard plastic soda cup left behind, complete with lid and straw. He pours out what little liquid is left in the cup, then proceeds to hurl the thing as hard as he can…towards the field. Kid has a good arm. It lands right next to a Trenton Thunder player in the on-deck circle waiting to hit. Mom…was cleaning her glasses and missed the whole thing. The person next to her – may have been her father or husband, just couldn’t tell – kind of sort of saw the glass fly out onto the field and thought maybe Beelzebub was responsible and nudged Mom. Mom…looked sort of perplexed and made him sit down without a word.
At this point I went to the men’s room – trust me. This was a good move on my part, for the safety of the other patrons. I exited the bathroom and saw dad/hubby and clueless mom dragging a screaming blond dirt bag out of the stadium. Upon return, the Mrs. informed me that the kid was unsuccessfully performing gymnastic routines on the chairs and kept hitting his head on the concrete.
Me: Any blood?
Me: too bad.
The kicker? Mom looked to be about 7 months pregnant. So there will be one more psychopathic bully roaming the globe in the near future.