May 15, 2003

• Raising Cain

  Last week, Matt and I went to a restaurant, and there was what Matt called “the son of Satan” sitting at the table behind me. He screamed a lot. Matt said, his mom was trying to feed him (I wasn’t looking because he was behind me.), and he would just spit it out and drop it on the floor. She would say calmly to him, “Don’t do that. Stop that now.” But he continued to scream and do something that involved making a banging noise.

  Two women with a group of daycare kids, mostly black, came into the restaurant too. They all filed in and sat at the tables, and when their food came, they ate neatly, talking to each other in quiet tones and generally having a good time. They were about the same age as this kid behind me, according to Matt. Well, Satan’s son let out a particularly ear-splitting scream (reason unknown), and it was surreal to see all those daycare children turn as one and stare at the kid for a few moments before returning to their quiet, casual dining.

  I was dying to turn around a get a look at this strange progeny. But instead, all I could do was laugh, and ask Matt to swear we wouldn’t have a kid like that. He said, “You never know what you’ll get, hon.”

  I used to hate little kids. They were always screaming and crying, and asking for things that their parents couldn’t afford. And then screaming and crying some more. Perhaps my hatred for little kids was also due to the fact that those who seemed to have them, couldn’t control them. They would threaten their kids in grocery store lines, saying, “If you don’t stop cryin’, I’m GOIN’ TO SPANK YOU.” The kid would promptly let out a horrified shriek at the thought, and then the mother would spank it really hard, in public. And the cycle would continue again, because now the kid was in both physical pain and emotional humiliation. It was torture for all within hearing range, but no one would do anything about it. Maybe it was because those women were usually the types that could whup a grown man’s butt.

  (My parents spanked me too, but it was few and far between. Plus I can remember precisely why I was spanked, as those occasions that warranted it were rare. Matt is the same way.)

  I think that my hatred of little kids changed when I went to visit my relatives in Philippines, and I got to meet my cousin J.R. who at the time was just a little baby. He was the cutest thing — jolly and plump and easy to break into giggles by just saying the word “banana” or “pancit”. I never heard him cry during the entire visit. He was a lovely, happy baby.

  Then I went back to the States and continued my baby-hating ways.

  Until my aunt and uncle came to live with us in Arkansas. They brought along my cousin May Anne, who wasn’t much more than a year old. She was also a lovely child. She was quiet and thoughtful, and in spite of her size, she was actually very mature. She was also really funny, but I won’t tell you how, because she’s actually grown up now, and I’d probably embarrass the heck out her.

  And then we moved to California, and I still hated babies.

  But then, another aunt had two kids, and they were also very mature. None of that screaming and crying that I associated with kids. Daniel has actually grown from a sentient grub into someone I can play Scrabble and chess with. Lorraine was also a quiet baby, thoughtful and sweet. I used to tell her fairy tales to get her to sleep, and I swear she looked like she could understand them.

  After that I went to college, and by that time I think I could tolerate babies. I realized, it’s really not the babies I hated, it was the way they were brought up. All my aunts raised their kids in a similar fashion to how I was raised, which meant they were pretty reasonable, even at a young age. They weren’t selfish or spoiled, and were very intelligent.

  Now, all my high school classmates are sending me pictures of their babies. They’re cute and all. One of my classmates complains a lot about her little girl, and I know she’s only teasing, but I think it’s sad that she has to do that. I see her doing what her parents did to her, and yet, I don’t say anything because there’s nothing madder than a woman who is told that she’s not raising her child correctly. She has to see it on her own, or she won’t acknowledge it.

  When I went to China with my parents, one of the tour guides pointed out that all government buildings have two lion statues at the entrance. One lion is a male, and usually has his paw on top of a globe. This is to represent the fact that the male is the one that rules the world.

  The other lion statue is a female, and under her paw is a little lion cub. This is because, she is the one who brings up the one who rules the world.
  

  • 1:23 am
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