There's a reason I avoid Target. No, it's not the repellent red motif that sends me off with a slight headache each time I shop there. It's the fact that I fear for my shins. Each time I venture into a Target (or some such big-box store), I'm almost always bombarded insufficiently-attended children, running haphazardly around like coked-up chickens, eventually winding up in a collision with me, some other customer, or a painstakingly constructed display. They'll sit on the floor in front of me while I'm waiting on line, run into my shopping cart and send it spinning into a shelf or, if denied possession of some shiny object, will simply stand there screaming like the subject of a successful exorcism. Whatever the case, I'm almost always met with a coy smile from the offending brat's yuppie mother, passively trying to suggest that this behavior is cute or charming. It's not, and I make sure to never smile back. Once I'm safe in the parking lot, I begin to wonder what backward changes occurred in parenting during the time my mid-eighties model comrades and I (and everyone born before that) were growing into well-adjusted adults. Looking back, I can't ever remember acting the way I see some children act out in public today. "Back in the day", my brother and I weren't treated like miniature King Henry VIII's whose moments of foul decorum the rest of the world simply had to cope with. Rather, it was ingrained in us at a very early age that we were extensions of our parents, and moreover, our family as a whole. If we happened to disturb a stranger or knock something over in a store while behaving badly, Mom, Dad, or even Gram was quick to apologize profusely and help make the situation right, while my brother and I stood in silence awaiting the guaranteed consequences. Yet on most days, because of the existence of these consequences, we simply chose to sit nicely in the cart, quietly perusing the back of a cereal box.

Today it seems as if there's some disconnect between parents and parenting. People just don't get embarrassed the way they used to when their kids act out in public and cause total strangers inconvenience or discomfort. Rather, they automatically expect to be excused when their unique little snowflake disturbs the peace by "just being a kid". When I was young, my parent's didn't just turn me loose in stores, restaurants or church - it was simply expected of me to sit up straight, be polite and show respect for whatever it was my family was doing at the time. God forbid I run headlong into some poor lady's shins in the supermarket - that might have cost me my Barbies, the television or that evening's dessert. But if I did it once, I was sure to try and avoid doing it again. Not to mention that conditioning me to stay close and be quiet probably kept me safe and out of the hands of our local pervs as well.

Amongst a myriad of other reasons, this only cements my desire to never have children. It must be difficult to raise a well-bred descendant in a society that really doesn't have your back. Years ago, sending your child to school supported your cause. My parents grew up trying to not be a "Mr. Bungle", and my ten years of Catholic education still makes me think I'll get "demerits" for being impolite to people or dressing inappropriately. Today though, schools don't want to deal with the little monsters you make at home - but will happily sic social services on you when you flip out at your own creation. I'm no proponent of child abuse by any means, but I do attribute my ability to get along in this world to years of adequately doled out discipline both at home and at school.

Posted by
Christine Gibboni