Barnabas Monkeypants

On Saturday, I nearly punched a 4-year-old in the face.

No, let me take that back. That sounds terrible.

I just wanted to punch a 4-year-old in his face.

Wait. That’s not what I meant.

I wanted to punch a 4-year-old’s father in the face.

Now, I’m not a violent person. But I suddenly became very protective this past weekend — not just of Henry, but of dozens of children that were in the path of this 43-inch monster.

Let me explain.

This past week’s weather was amazing. Sunny, low-60s, a nice breeze off the lake. I’d go out at lunch and walk around downtown, just basking in the warm sun.

Obviously, this meant that come Saturday (the first day of Spring, too), it was snowing in Chicago. Yes, snowing.

So instead of going to the park and running around outside, we trudged off to a local mall for Henry to run around on their indoor playground. (We also bought him a windbreaker).

The Northbrook Mall is a nice, sort-of ritzy place, where North Shore (the towns just north of Chicago where you move where you can safely and without criticism make fun of the poor) residents go to buy things that they don’t need. (We bought a windbreaker for Henry — he needed that.)

Anyway, I sound bitter because I am. You see, at the mall, they have an indoor playground — a large, fake oak tree that has tunnels and sliding boards and stairs — where kids can run around and their parents can ignore them. But Henry likes it, so we stopped by for him to play a bit. (See that picture of Henry going down a slide? That was taken a month or so ago at the mall. See the guy reading the paper while his daughter is bleeding from the head [she was out of the shot]? Also, note the “Please Don’t Climb Up the Slide” sign? Yeah, ignored by the brats. So typical of this place.)

While Henry enjoys it, I don’t because these kids have no real manners and all run around like banshees, and I’m always worried that Henry is going to get plowed into. (Which he has in the past.) Saturday was no different. As soon as we got inside the cordoned off area and Henry ran up to the tree, this kid came running up to Henry and — with his arms outstretched like he was playing airplane — knocked our poor kid on his butt.

There were tears and I held him and rubbed his back, telling him that he’ll be okay, but what I really wanted to do was stop the kid (who was about 4 and who was still running around like a psycho) and tell him he should apologize. I didn’t — mostly because I couldn’t catch up to him. But as much as I wanted to scream at him, I wasn’t that mad because I just assumed that it was an accident — kids run into other kids all the time. It’s what they do.

Except this kid was the biggest little jerk of all. Because as Henry was in my arms (and as I was considering putting him down and letting him play some), I watched this kid — this little monster — do the same thing to three other kids. He runs, he sees some little boy or girl (always smaller than him) in his way, and up goes his arm and he knocks them over.

Three other kids!

Now I’m starting to get pissed. It was obvious what he did to Henry (and the other kids) wasn’t an accident, and I wanted him to pay. I hand Henry to Kristen and — with a look of murder in my eyes — I’m ready to get right in that little kid’s face.

Of course, I wouldn’t yell at the kid (and I wouldn’t punch him), but what I really wanted was for me to explain nicely what he should be doing and hopefully get the attention of his mother or father so I could then tell them a thing or two about parenting.

But Kristen — being the calm and reasonable one in this situation — instead ushered us all out of the play area so I wouldn’t make a scene.

“I bet his parents are terrible to him! That’s why he’s such a bully!” she said, trying to be reasonable, but I wouldn’t listen. I steamed for another half hour and was hoping that I’d see the brat and his family walking around the mall.

How are kids like this? He was 4! What 4-year-old thinks like this? Where were his parents? Why weren’t other parents up in arms as much as I was?

God, I hate the suburbs.

This entry was posted on Monday, March 22nd, 2010 at 8:39 pm and is filed under Barnabas. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.