Make It Stop!

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! The ridiculousness of “parenting” knows no bounds. (Note, the way I constructed that sentence is meant to convey that what became known as “parenting” some fifty-four years ago is a never-ceasing display of the absurd. Not punctuated with the occasional absurdity, but a constant stream of them.)

On September 18 of the current Anno Domini, I am seated in the Charlotte-Douglas Airport, Concourse E, gate E-12, awaiting my flight home, to New Bern, Willie, and Hanna the Puppa-Monkey, when a young (30-something?) mother proceeds by, pushing a baby stroller in which is seated a “baby” who had to be five years old. I’m an experienced estimator of children’s ages. He was at least five. This was not one of those umbrella strollers, mind you, but a plush throne that had “Herein Sits The Royal Hiney” written all over it.

“Mom,” said His Hineyness, pointing to something ahead of him and slightly to the right, “go over there,” and Mom steered in the direction of the point, as any proper vassal must.