Or, when can you actually childline someone?
We went to the ballgame the other night in the sweltering heat. It was an evening game, we were under the awning, it was cloudy, but it was still hotter than hell in the stadium. I was doing my usual thing, reading and the family was hunkered in to watch the game.
Enter the parents of the year. DD first noticed them and hissed to me “are these the same people who sat behind us last year? (flashback to the last company sponsered baseball outing with the child behind us making comments that would make the most seasoned Jersey Shore Guido want to smack him) No, not the same family. Okay, breath a sigh of relief….
And then I start to get snippets of conversations behind me. First thing that caught my ear was the constant harping by the mom to the child to “drink some water” over and over again. Sure, it’s hot, but why the constant nagging? And then I hear “well, she needs to keep drinking, she has a fever.” WHAT? You bring a kid with a fever to a ballgame in 90+ temps and an even higher heat index? And then I hear “uh oh, Daddy didn’t bring his wallet.” And the kids groan. And I think “wow, those kids are going to be miserable since they are sitting on the end of the row and all the vendors are clearly visible to them”
It really went south when the little girl started to whine that she didn’t feel good and she was hot. Mom of the years response? “There’s nothing I can do about it?” The poor child who is obviously a genius compared to mom responded with “yes there is, you can take me home!” DD actually nudged me at this point and gave me a look.
Let the non stop whining and crying begin. For the next hour and a half the little girl cried and moaned and pleaded with her mom to take her home. For the next hour and a half the mom responded with a terse “shut up!” every time. DD began to roll her eyes. I grimly concentrated on my book while the sweat trickled down my face. I was miserable, clothes damp, sweat all over. I can just imagine how miserable that poor kid was.
And what I didn’t get was why would the mom say “we’re going to eat AFTER the game.” After the game was fireworks (the one and only reason why I go) and th game would be over at, oh 9:30 or so. A little late don’t you think? I bit my tongue because parental unit of the year did not seem the type to take proferred advice well. Take the kid behind the stands. There’s a breeze and its cooler there.
Magically there was money to get the child an ice cream, but this just caused more terse undertone yelling from mom when the sick kid wasn’t eating the ice cream fast enough and was dripping a bit. Total fun. What I wasn’t paying attention to was the brother. DD noticed that the parents constantly belittled everything the kid said. Sure, the player’s name is pronounced DEE AZ not DIE AZ but you can correct without killing the kid’s soul.
And DD kept hissing “can you chldline bad parents?” and the answer sadly at this point is no. Finally the parents of the year decided to leave. The home team was losing by a mile, the heat, the sick child. Yeah, I guess they had their fill. My gut feeling though was that the sick little girl was in for some heavy verbal abuse and probably a swat or two.
Sure, it sucks when a kid gets sick and you have plans, but its not about YOU, it’s about your child. And if your child is miserable and you’re not paralyzed from the neck down, you get up and take them out. You find somewhere cooler, you miss watching the game because it still is not about YOU it’s about your child. But, when you are dead from the neck up and have the maturity level of a thirteen year old, your child and those around you are going to suffer. Hope those seven innings were worth all the misery.
