Month: June 2016

I appreciate when folks are concerned about other people’s kids. As a parent, I’d like to think I do my part in helping keeping an eye out to make sure other parents’ kids aren’t in danger, especially during that split second every parent has at some point where their incredibly elusive child darts from the reach of safety.

That said, I try really hard not to parent other people’s kids. What I find acceptable or unacceptable in my house is my business, and I certainly don’t feel the need to exert my parenting style on others, in particular strangers.

And most of it is pretty cut and dried, especially with younger kids. See a get darting into traffic? OK to step up and parent and stop the kid. Don’t like the way a kid is talking to his parents? Yeah, not really your business.

But in particular as kids get older, there are those gray areas. And I find myself being on the receiving end of those gray areas a good bit.

My family and I spend a lot of time outdoors. One of our favorite places is a popular marsh spot near our house where we love to go crabbing and fishing. At low tide, there is a vast amount of mud flats that are easily accessible. Generally, anywhere from 25-50 percent of my family is up for venturing out onto the flats.

But it’s usually just my son out there. He’s 13, and certainly knows his away around the outdoors. At this particular spot, we have gotten to know the flats well, too. We know where we can walk and when, and we know how the tides behave in this spot. In short, we know what we’re doing.

There is one particular sandbar that my son likes to go fishing and cast netting on. At dead low tide, he can wade out to the sandbar and set up shop. He also knows, when the tide is coming back in, when it’s time to wade back, lest you have to try and swim the 20 feet or so, dragging all of your gear. He usually does this by marking a spot on the sandbar with a clam or oyster. When the water hits there, time to walk back to the mainland when the water is still just knee-deep. He’s a smart kid.

Whenever he’s out there on the sandbar, I leave and go knock out some errands. He’s fine.

Ha! Some bad parenting humor for you. I’m always right there, mainly because I want to see what he catches, but also because, you know, parenting.

I’ve chuckled at the times I’ve overheard concerned passersby comment on my son. “I think that boy is stuck” or “Why is that kid out there by himself?” are two responses I have heard.

I’m never confrontational. My response in the first comment: “Nah, water’s only a few inches deep to get out there. See that clam on the sandbar? When it hits that mark, he’ll come back in.”

To the second remark, I did the sensible and mature thing, which was to throw a handful of bait at them, leading to a seagull attack that would have made Tippy Hedren proud.

Ha! More bad parenting humor. Rather, I said, “He’s mine,” followed by the explanation that I gave to the prior comment.

After a few minutes of chatting about the marsh and what we find out there, most folks decide that I am not, in fact, an awful parent, and that my son is just out in nature doing what little boys do.

One time, as my son was out on one of the flats, an elderly woman walked up next to me as I leaned on the railing, watching him throw his cast net. “Is he yours?” she asked. Uh-oh, I thought. Lecture time.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

She turned to me and smiled. “He’s living the life, isn’t he?” Yes, ma’am, he is.

I appreciate the concerns of the other parents, but I really appreciate the woman who surveyed the situation and realized that a teenage boy out communing with nature is, in fact, living the life.

That said, if he makes a break into traffic, any of you folks are welcome to grab him.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Sometimes in life, you just have to be a T. Rex.

I was getting takeout dinner the other night at a restaurant near our house. My wife and I were discussing possible dinner choices, and we both agreed that (1) neither of us wanted to cook and (2) neither of us really wanted to go out for dinner. It was an exceptionally motivated kind of night.

So I went to a place near our house to order some chicken and steak kabobs, as there is never a night when chicken and steak kabobs won’t hit the spot. As I was waiting for my order, a woman came in with her two young boys, probably 3 and 6.

The mother looked tired. I know the look. I’ve seen it many times, often when I walk in the door from work. Granted, I don’t see it as much these days, as my kids are teens. If the day has gone south with teens, it’s a veeeery different look you get when you walk in the door.

As the woman approached the counter to order, her older son loudly announced, “I’M A T. REX!!!!” And he then proceeded to tuck his arms up in little shortened T. Rex fashion and stomp after his brother. And in case you were wondering, yes, he added the roars.

As is required by federal law, the younger brother began sprinting away, screaming in terror as the T. Rex continued his pursuit.

The mother got another one of those looks. “MATTHEW!!! ROBERT!!!!” she said, in one of those whisper/yell combinations that only moms can do. (By the way, I’ve changed the name of the T. Rex and his prey to protect their identities. Their real names are David and William.)

The call from the mom had no effect on either child. But that makes sense, because everyone knows, despite a T. Rex’s excellent hearing, when focused on prey, they will not be distracted.

Now, had this been at some fancy restaurant with a bunch of folks in it, I could see where there would be cause for distress on the mother’s part. But this was a take-out kabob place, and the only other people in the restaurant were a dad and his young daughter and a woman slightly older than me, also waiting for takeout. The young daughter found it hilarious, as did the dad. The woman next to me said, with a laugh, “I remember when mine were that age.”

I asked for a manager and demanded that Jurassic Preschool be removed from the premises immediately. And a free soft drink with my order.

Ha! I kid. I, too, was laughing, as it was funny to watch Cli…Matthew chase his brother around the restaurant. I also understand the mom’s concerns. Many folks who are getting annoyed by kids in restaurants don’t realize that the most mortified person in the facility is the actual parent. Sure, there are some awful people who let their children run amok with no concern for others whatsoever. But I’d like to think those are the outliers.

The mom paid for her order and then went off in pursuit of her T. Rex and his prey. As she passed us, she gave that mom apology that I have seen too often and that I find unfortunate parents feel like they have to give. Being a parent of small kids is tough. Especially when they start to act like the wild animals that they are at heart. But at least for this moment, she had a sympathetic audience that wasn’t going to make her feel like a bad parent for her kids being, well, kids.

“No worries,” I said. “Your son is an excellent T. Rex,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said, with that tired look only the mom of a T. Rex knows.

I remember those times, as does my wife. We’re in a different stage of parenting, with different challenges facing us with our kids. But I’ll always be sympathetic to the hard working parents who are just trying to order some food with a couple of small kids. Especially if one is a T. Rex.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.