Tampa Bay Times: With a bit of chalk on a blackboard, Scooter Gabel unleashed a fury. Smudgy and handwritten, the sign that went up nearly two months ago says this: "For the comfort and safety of everybody, if you allow your child to run, scream or misbehave, you will be asked to leave." The owner of Cappy's pizzeria in Seminole Heights had had enough.
This article is one of those things that makes me feel really old. (Sure, I am really old, but most of the time I don't feel that way.) I can't imagine the need for such a sign back when I was a kid or even when my own kids were growing up. I suppose I'm permanently scarred, and so are my kids, because we weren't allowed to run wild in restaurants. I can't speak for my kids, but the truth is that it would never have occurred to me to. There were places where you could be loud and run around, but restaurants weren't included in them. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to walk along the beach with the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
3 comments:
I'll be rolling mine up right next to you--and my kids are still in their teens, but my husband and I made sure they knew appropriate public behavior from the time they were very young.
Just this past week, I was at a school event (junior high) and the woman in front of me was trying to tape her son's performance and kids who weren't part of the program kept running in front of her, blocking the view. Their parents did nothing, so I spoke up with a sharp "Sit down!" I got dirty looks from the kids, but they sat down (and were still and quiet for the rest of the show).
Then last night we were at a minor league baseball game and a young boy (I would guess about 10 or 11) was screaming (and I do mean screamin) vile abuse at the players, his father standing to one side nursing a beer. Much to my daughter's embarrassment, I yelled at the boy, "Don't you have an adult with you?" The father, shamefaced, seem to get the message and quieted the boy down.
Jeez, when did parents stop being parents? I fear for the future.
/Hails bus; geezer pass in hand.
At least we'll have a quiet trip on the bus.
When I was a young boy we were at a Howard Johnson's along the interstate. I went to the loo and as I returned to the table I noticed the restaurant was laid out in a curve, just like a race track. So I ran. A waiter with a huge tray full of dirty dishes stepped from a booth as I rounded the clubhouse turn and my head collided with the tray, which clattered to the floor like the contents of Fibber McGee's closet. My sole foray into bad public behavior as a child.
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