An open letter to you…
Oh, you lot. You absolute champions of patience and bearers of noise pollution. I’m writing this because I just love hearing your little bundles of joy perform their high-pitched, soul-piercing operas in public spaces. It’s truly a gift to all of us who are trying to enjoy a meal, read a book, or – God forbid – simply exist in a sliver of peace and quiet.
What is it about the grocery store, a quiet café, or, my personal favorite, an airplane, that triggers your child’s inner banshee? It’s like they see public spaces as a stage and us as their captive audience. And I know, I know, you’re probably sitting there thinking, “But Nigel, children are precious and misunderstood!” Oh of course they are. And what better way to share that preciousness with the world than just screaming it out loud?
Honestly, who wouldn’t want to hear a pint-sized lunatic scream like their ice cream cone just committed treason? I mean, why limit your kid’s meltdown to the privacy of your home when you can share the experience with the world? It’s so considerate.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m sure little Timmy is an angel at home – or so you try to convince yourself of – and I can imagine the mental gymnastics required to ignore the fact that his vocal range is in direct competition with a squealing pig. But here’s a thought: maybe, just maybe, Timmy could practice his air raid siren impersonation in, I don’t know, a padded room or the middle of the Sahara desert? That’s just a suggestion though, it can also be the Gobi desert.
What’s truly baffling though is how some of you manage to completely ignore these auditory assaults. I’m honestly amazed when I see a child shrieking as though they’re being chased by a murder of crow, and you’re just there scrolling through Instagram as if you’re in a spa. How do you do it? Is it meditation? Have you ascended to a higher plane of existence? Or maybe that’s what kids do to you and you’re just dead inside.
I mean, I get it, parenting is hard, and kids are unpredictable. But here’s the thing: the rest of us didn’t sign up to be a part of your child’s tantrum support group. We’re not contractually obligated to endure the screams of your darling as he debates the unfairness of being told “no” when trying to eat crayons. Just let that cherub do, we all have to learn somehow and it might be that your precious simply is on the dumber side of the spectrum.
So yeah, next time, when little Timmy winds up for his next symphony of screeches, please, for the love of all that is holy, consider taking him somewhere else. A quiet field, perhaps, or the moon. Because, you see, while you may have mastered the art of selective hearing, the rest of us are contemplating which one of a set of earplugs or a muzzle would be a better investment to survive the grocery store.
xoxo
