Chil'uns

I was in Boston for the last couple days learning all about passwords and how to keep them happily humming along quietly in the background. One does not want to think about passwords, and one definitely does not want the CIO to be thinking about them. It was a very good couple days that way, and I even met a couple fun people. All was good.

It was not until riding the last shuttle to my car that I wanted to strangle my first people. The parents of some poor, cute little munchkin were training him on how to sit on a bus. They figured he should sit with them, straight, and facing the center. All in all it was not a bad plan, but the child wanted to sit away from them, one his knees, facing the window. This was also not a bad plan. The problem, of course, was the little disagreement between the parents and the central authority of the family.

Eventually, the parents came to see the light, and the kid watched the scenery go by very happily.

Here's the deal. I think your kid is cute. Your kid is not bothering me. I could listen to children giggle, bicker, explore, query, and cry all day. It's all cute to me and I love being around children of all ages. The little newborn I sat beside on the way to Boston was darling (It never hurts to be reminded how endlessly fascinating pint-sized people find their mother's eyes). The grade school dynamo who whiled away two hours playing some probably very boring game on his mother's phone was a tarzanian wonder and a real charmer. This little blond winner was pretty fun to watch, too. Everything was wonderfully interesting to him.

It was his parents who were complete boors. Once you have clearly communicated your instructions to us (their son was not listening at all) a single time, we are done. We KNOW what you wish your son would do. Please quit telling us. Please.

Please.