The Mighty Dyckerson’s unfortunate poop experience reminded me of an entry Christine made on her Infinitepink blog back in 2002. To this day, it’s one of my favorite examples of the epidemic of shitty (no pun intended) parenting we see in our society today. Plus, the way Christine wrote the story was so hilarious! Here it is:
- The Worst I’ve Ever Seen
About 4:00 or so last evening I decided to make a run to the grocery store to pick up a few things. I found everything I went there for, but I also returned home with something unexpected.I am now carrying around the mental image of the absolute worst temper tantrum I have ever seen pitched in public since 1967 (more on that ‘67 incident in an upcoming entry.) This scene was so profoundly horrifying that it was the last thing I thought of before I went to sleep and the first thing that came into my mind when I woke up.
The store where I shop is located in the center of Soccermomville, Iowa. Which is right next to Daddysadoctorburg, of course. You can go there anytime of day and see an overly-liberal parent trying to reign in their spoiled rotten uber-brat of a child. It’s not uncommon to hear things like:
“Hillary, I’ve asked you nicely 100 times now – please don’t open that package of cookies. Mommy is *starting* to get upset!”
“Tommy – listen to me. Get down from that display case. Do you prefer the soup with the little stars, the letters, or the tiny dinosaurs? No… we’re not going to buy them all and mix them…”
“Michael, honey – sit down! You know better than to stand up in the cart. Sit! Sit! Michael, if you throw those bananas again, I’ll spank…”
It’s a constant thing, I tell you. The kids are in charge of the parents. Which is why the geniuses at my store have come up with a solution to keep children entertained and somewhat caged while their powerless parents wander aimlessly through the aisles trying to hold it together long enough to buy something for dinner.
They made a shopping cart with a section on the front end that looks like a little car – steering wheel and all. Just shove your whiny brat precious child in there and they will be happy for at least ½ hour, so shop fast. Apparently, it doesn’t matter that this cart is practically the size of an actual Volkswagen rolling down the aisles, that it runs over everyone’s toes, and barrels into old ladies because Supermom can’t drive it any better than her minivan.
Apparently, all of that is worth is if the obnoxious crumb cruncher precious child is amused and under control for a few moments.
Which bring us to last night’s episode. Professional Dad was wheeling his cart of pre-packaged, microwavable shit haphazardly through the grocery store, and Little Johnny Snotmonster was in the “car” attached to the front end. Dad found everything on his list and decided it was time to check out. This was not a good choice, according to Johnny. How dare father come to this decision without consulting him first!
I guess the inventors of the rolling, grocery Brat Mobile never stopped to think that most kids under the age of five will raise holy hell if something they enjoy is taken away from them.
I am not exaggerating when I say this: I saw this adorable blonde, chubby-cheeked preschool boy turn into a snarling, kicking, spitting demon in 3.5 seconds flat as WonderDad attempted to pry his writhing body from that “car”. The kid let out this blood curdling scream that was so awful, the old lady next to me in the checkout line started to shake and dropped a jar of pickles.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaarooooooohhhhhaaaaawaaaaaaaaahhh!”
“Let go of the cart; we have to buy the groceries now and get home. Mommy is waiting for us.”
“Aaaaaaaaaaiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!”
Boy inflicts violent kicking, slapping and hairpulling on Daddy. Daddy just takes it.
“Would someone please take this cart away as soon as I get him out of it? That might work,” asks Daddy.
Horrified clerks and customers watch and listen, mouths gaping.
The store manager directs the checkout boys to rush to the father’s aide. They will do anything to shut up that kid up and get them out of the store as soon as possible. They whisk the ‘car’ away as soon as Daddy pries Junior’s grubby little fingers off the steering wheel and extricates him from it.
“Aaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggggarooooooooo!!! I HATE YOU DADDY! I HATE YOU!”
Picture snot bubbles bursting furiously from the kid’s nose as he sobs, wails and goes all Jackie Chan on Daddy.
“I’m sure you do, son. That’s ok. It’s alright to be angry.”
The boy, who has now been set down on the floor because of the uncontrollable thrashing, now begins to bang his head against the checkout counter with a deafening *kaboom*kaboom*kaboom*. The horrendous screaming gets even worse than ever. Daddy’s legs are now being beaten to a pulp as the groceries are scanned and he shakily tries to write out the check.
Onlookers gather around and stare, transfixed, wondering what will happen next.
In all of my life, I never would have predicted what DID happen next.
“I HATE YOU DADDYYyyyyyy *groaaaaannn*grunnnnnnnnt…**GRRRRRuuuuunnnn**…..” came out of the monster’s beet-red face.
You guessed it. The little tyrant crapped his pants!! A three-year-old who can shit on command! Who knew?? Never in a million years would I have thought of using that tactic when I was a kid.
“Son, you didn’t… please tell Daddy that you didn’t do that.”
“I diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid!!!!!! I HATEYOOOOOOOOOOOOUuUuUuuuuuu!!!”
A collective “Eewww!” goes up from the crowd, and everyone backs up. Some of us busted out laughing. Ok, I busted out laughing. I couldn’t help it — I was in some sort of bewildered shock.
Daddy picks up the kid, who is still bellowing and now has runny, wet brown spots seeping through the legs of his corduroys, and wrestles him a bit to keep from getting slapped in the face again.
“I think I’ll need drive-up for this tonight…”
No shit, Daddy Sherlock. Drive-up, a tranquilizer gun, and an exorcist.
It seemed to take an eternity for the man and the stinky boy to make it to the door. Everyone was motionless until the automatic door swung shut behind them. We could still hear the kid through the storefront window, but at least we didn’t fear for our lives any more. Slowly, the tension broke and people started chuckling about what they had just witnessed.
Some guy in the next line over laughingly said:
“That reminds me. I have to buy some condoms…”
No kidding! I bet half the guys in the store did after seeing that!
BTW, here is what I wrote back in her comments section:
“YES YES YES! That is EXACTLY what I’m talking about. It would take MORE ENERGY for the dad to just leave his groceries, grab the kid, leave the store, take him home, do time out or whatever yuppie shit is in style, and next time say “you can’t come to the store because you threw a temper tantrum last time”
No, that’s too much effort.
So, the dad does the lazy, psychobabble shit. And all the while, patting himself on the back for being THE MOST EXCELLENT parent.
Parents like that are NOT DOING THEIR KIDS ANY FAVORS.”
I fear for our society, I really do.
Open letter to all you stupid fucking yuppie parents who think you’re so smart: QUIT READING THE “FEEL GOOD” BOOKS AND RAISE YOUR DAMN KID, YOU LAZY ASS! Society has rules, and they’re not set by three year olds. Society should not bend to meet the whims of your nose-picking child. Guess what? Your child and his/her fragile flower of an ego needs to bend to fit into society. Teach them that now, and maybe come high school age, they won’t show up at their school with an automatic weapon because they didn’t get to watercolor in art class like they wanted!
(Christine, I don’t remember you ever making the entry about the ‘67 incident. If you did, could you link it?)
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When my youngest cousin (now 10 years old) was 2 or 3, my aunt used to drive us all crazy the way she let her daughter run their life. She gave her kid choices and options about EVERYTHING, and it always screwed something up. Any time we were with them and wanted to go to eat, she would ask her daughter where she wanted to go and the kid always said IHOP. We all hated IHOP, but that’s where we’d go and then the kid would refuse to eat anything. Or days when she needed to go to the grocery store because their cupboards were virtually empty, she would ask her daughter if she wanted to go or not. ??? Of course she didn’t! So then they wouldn’t go until the kid felt like it, no matter how badly they needed to.
HAhaha Mary! It’s so funny to read this again.
Thanks for reposting it - I put it on my blog today too.
Now, about The 1967 Event… as it happens, that was a family occurrence and when I was writing the entry it was requested that I never let it appear in public. (Darn, you Dr. Cheesecake… stop being the spoiled baby sister! *shakes fist* )
Anyway. :razz:
Hope your day is going well!
XoXOOXox ~ C.
An argument for birth control…
I’m still laughing about the following story posted over at Bunnytude. Before anyone slams me because I’ve never been a parent, let me tell you that I lived with my twin brother and his three small children for a……
Incidents like this result in me petting my tubal scar and pouring more wine for myself while I blissfully think, “Sweet jeebus that will never be me!”
DrunkBunny are you by chance Childfree?
Andie, yes I’m childfree. Of course that would make others say I have no right to judge. Well, when the brats are in public and we are the ones who are forced to observe the scene that Christine described, we have every right to be judgmental!
Also, a few years ago I read an interesting article about “entitlement kids”. It was about how businesses are having trouble with the young adults right out of college, who were raised by their parents as if the world revolved around them, and how difficult it is to have that type of person in the workplace. The products of such an upbringing all want top pay and high level management positions right from the start, they fall to pieces at even the hint of constructive criticism, and they are incapable of following rules, working in a team, or getting along with their coworkers.
Jenn, if your cousin is like my nephews (who are being raised the exact same way), no doubt the behavior improved at least partially when the kid got into school and had a teacher that MADE the kid mind. Still I bet your cousin is in for a nightmare when the kid turns 12 or 13.
Christine, your family doesn’t know about my blog. If you want me to anonymously post the story at a later date, you have my email!
Sweet! I love meeting new CF people! If you want, you can email me and I’ll tell you where all the cool kids hang out. :mrgreen:
I LOVE THE WAY THIS IS WRITTEN …I LAUGHED SO HARD THE WAY ITS WORDED!!!!THEN PASSED IT ALONG FOR MY SISTER TO ENJOY!!! :