Do We Look Like That?

As a parent of a small child, I hope to never become a parent of a small child. Since that sounds a little confusing, I’ll explain. I’m not saying that I don’t want to go through parenting a second time. And I certainly don’t regret having the first one. What I mean is that I hope to never sound or act like the parent of a small child. At least not the ones I encountered at the zoo during the “special” visit by Dora the Explorer.

Good God.

A couple of weeks ago my wife, my young son and I ventured to the zoo, completely unaware that this cartoon-character-come-to-life would be there, and even more unaware that every parent in the tri-state area was descending upon the zoo to see this traveling mecca of entertainment. If only these parents could have seen themselves.

Now, it wasn’t like a scene at the mall the day after Thanksgiving. Everyone was very civil. It was more like a scene of once normal, well-adjusted adults who have morphed into mobile nurseries that live only to serve their midget-sized offspring. And most were completely unaware that other people were at the zoo and that these people could see them.

For example: I was standing in line at a concession stand behind two dads and their corresponding set of kids, I’d say ages 5-7, and upon reaching the front of the line, both dads tried asking their kids what they wanted to eat. The kids, however, were more interested in running around and acting silly (like kids do). So the dads asked again. And then again. And continued asking. Meanwhile, the line had grown quite large.

Keep in mind I’m at a concession stand that sells pizza, giant pretzels and hot dogs. To a seven year old, there is no wrong answer. Yet the dads were intent on getting this right, no matter how long it took. Call me crazy, but I saw this as an opportunity for them to teach their kids a valuable lesson. They could have decided what each kid was going to eat, ordered the food, and if one or more of the kids wasn’t happy with what they ended up with, that’s when the parent says…(can you guess?)…(it’s a word I heard many times growing up)…(here it comes)… “tough.”

Again, this wasn’t a French restaurant, so the risk wasn’t very high that the kids would be disappointed. But if one of them was unhappy, impart the lesson: “Instead of listening to me when I asked you what you wanted, you chose to goof off, so I had to order for you. So, you can either eat what I ordered you, or when we continue our tour of the animals, I can push you over the ledge of the grizzly bear exhibit. Your call.”

After finally getting my bottled water (always worth the wait), I saw an example of a woman who is slowly losing her own identity. As we sat at a playground, this mom was significantly happier than her kids to see the approaching show. While her kids played on the swings, she intermittently broke from her conversation with another adult to yell things like, “Dora, kids! Dora! Are you excited?!” Sadly this was not a case of a mother trying to round up her kids by feigning excitement (which parents are known to do). She was expressing general enthusiasm. I was close enough to the playground to hear this actual conversation:

KID 1: “Is that your mom?”

KID 2: “Yeah.”

KID 1: “She’s really hyped for this Dora the Explorer show.”

KID 2: “Yeah, and she doesn’t even realize I stopped playing with that crap two years ago.”

KID 1: “Wow.”

KID 2: “I’ve asked her to get help. She just holds her hands over her ears and sings the show’s theme song.”

KID 1: “Yikes.”

KID 2: “Can I go home with you?”

And parents of small children can be seen coming from hundreds of yards away. They look like a whirling dervish of chaos. The image reminds me of the giant hamster balls on the old American Gladiators, whereby the parents are the gladiators making the hamster ball roll, and in this instance the ball has strollers, diaper bags and noisy kids covered in jelly stuck to the outside of it. The only thing missing is a flashing sign on top of the ball that reads, “Here we come. Leave now or you’ll never escape.”

Of course my wife is far less concerned with morphing into this spectacle. While I was envisioning the hamster ball, she was making comments like, “Look at their stroller, that is badass. It’s so maneuverable and has a huge sun shade. That’s what we’ll need when we have two (kids).”

Sigh. I just hope it doesn’t get to the point that people start hiring clowns to follow them everywhere they go.

DAD: “I’ll have the pasta alfredo and my wife will have the chicken salad.”

WAITER: “Anything for your friend?”

DAD: “Oh, you mean Sprinkles? I don’t know. Sprinkles, do you want anything?”

SPRINKLES: “Nah. While the kid’s asleep, I’m gonna go out and have a cigarette.”

DAD: “Ok, but hurry it up. If he wakes up and starts fussing, I want your ass back in here puttin’ on a show.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love to see my son happy and I’m sure I often look ridiculous. I already do something I swore I’d never do whenever someone approaches and smiles at my kid – “Can you say hi to the nice lady? Can you say hi? You say hi at home. Say hi.”

(My son, of course, is imminently smarter than I am because he knows that in 2-3 years we’ll have the conversation about how he should never talk to strangers, despite my efforts to get him to do so at the age of 16 months.)

I just don’t want to be the dad who is so obnoxious in public that he might as well yell out, “Hey everyone, look at my son! Look at the way he watches the monkeys! Isn’t he cute? He’s a genius too. One day he’ll buy and sell every one of you. Look how he laughs at the monkeys! He's adorable!”

So if you see me acting this way in public, or if you see someone who you think is me, feel free to smack me (or him) around until I (he) come(s) to my (his) senses. I promise to do the same for you.