Volume: 2
Short encounters with families.
I wondered why I opted to turn right on Hazel this particular day.
Apparently, validations come in threes. That evening, Ellie and I attended a barbecue held by two families with children. Not five minutes after we arrived, B, the uncontrollable nightmare, whacked C with a golf club. Let the festivities begin. B was told to take a time-out that was shorter than the NBA 20-second standard. He returned, grabbed the club and started swinging again but C was in full, bawling retreat.
I don't know how to raise a child but that doesn't excuse those who have them from figuring it out. Any move that doesn't meet with B's approval brings an immediate cascade of tears and screaming. The solution is to always accede, setting up behavior patterns that will last a lifetime. D, his little sister, must have prescient powers and is horrified by what lay ahead for her. Thus, she also screams incessantly, adding an alto flavor to the chorus.
This is only the part that we witnessed. It goes on in their home with a robust uptime of 24x7x52x18 while I exist in nearly complete silence, free to work on whatever project I wish, free to procrastinate on the rest. And yet once or twice each week someone asks just when it is that I plan to embark on that wonderful adventure called family. People have no idea how they insult me.