NIGHT OUT

Wyomme Pariss phoned and asked if I was available to sing a song with the Spirit of Faith Christian Center-Brandywine choir. Soloists from the praise team were otherwise engaged in their church's "Born to Be King" winter production, and she didn't want to perform the leads to Richard Smallwood's "Anthem of Praise" by herself. Frankly, I understood her plight. The song is a bit of a work out! I've been tapped many times to fill in for a soloist who wasn't able to make a concert, and my respect level for Renee Adams, Darlene Simmons and Charrisse Nelson-MacIntosh grows exponentially every time I pinch hit for either one of them.

I was glad to go last night. One--People don't have to ask you to do anything--especially when you know who they could have asked. Two-- It's always fun to sing a song you already know and like with capable singers and musicians. Three--it was another test of my "hangability". This has been a busier than usual week. Four--I knew it would be a pleasant event.
It really was the first day of Winter yesterday. I remember the time that nothing could make me go out on a night so cold, but there I was yesterday evening, getting ready and not even thinking about using the weather as an excuse to curl up with a cup of Swiss Miss cocoa. Not having to drive to Brandywine was a wonderful thing, too.

After hearing some of the SOFCC singers, it occurred to me that there was no urgency for me to be there at all. One young lady in particular had such a powerful voice, I thought to myself, "The next time they decide to sing the song, they really should allow her to do it". She was teriffic! Any one of them, actually, (including the little ones) could have done just fine.  I appreciated the invitation, though, and was honored for the opportunity.  The band was fantastic and the children's vocal and dance performances were simply delightful. It was obvious that the production took lots of time, energy, sacrifice and effort. It reminded me of the plays and assemblies we used to participate in at my childhood church and in elementary school. It's the kind of thing kids look back on fondly--their first solo, first speaking part, first public performance.
The kids who performed last night were so talented and well behaved. It says a lot about their parents and those tasked to lead them.
Kudos to the parents and adults who work with the children of the church so patiently, and encourage their gifts and talents. Kudos to anyone who works with children, for that matter, and have a genuine interest in their moral, social, and artistic development.
Oh, yeah--and a very special shout out to the SOFCC popcorn ministry for faithfully popping corn the old fashioned way. I don't know that I've ever enjoyed a bag of hot, fresh popped corn while sitting on a church pew! That was a little bit of heaven.
What?
Have you met me?

SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES: POETRY PROMPT---DISCIPLINE

Someone knew something about the Newtown shooter that, perhaps, should have been shared with the Newtown community. 

Someone is not saying something, is whispering amongst others who also knew something, or is thinking that speaking up now won't do any good, or is too late.

As a teacher, I could ALWAYS tell, when in a conference with a parent, that I wasn't sharing anything about a child's behavior that the parent didn't already know. 

In some cases, parents would become defensive and even belligerent. Telling them their child had broken a rule would strike, not the nerve that said, "Thank you. I need to correct my child" but the one that yelled, "Who do you think you are, and why are you attacking me?"

When I would hear comments like, "I know my child can be a handful.", I'd think to myself, "That's alright. Your child may act a fool at home, but he/ she is going to follow directions in my classroom". That was, of course, only after thinking "Well, what the heck do you expect me to do with him/her?" 

It was okay, though. 

I knew EXACTLY what to do. 

I prayed. 

A LOT. 

I reasoned with kids. 

A LOT. 

I wonder if the scores of children I taught ever knew that it was I who craved peace and pleasantness the most? 

I didn't intend to have problems. 

I was going to teach Art, AND have order in my classroom, and no one would be excluded. 

I didn't think that was an unreasonable hope or achievement.

At the end of the year, some parents who dreaded summer vacation as much as they celebrated the first day of school, would ask, "Why does he/ she listen to you?" 

My reply would be something along the lines of: "I'm a mother, myself. What I expect from my own child, I expect from yours. 

What I wish for my own child, I wish for yours. 

I don't play with my students. 

I'm their teacher, and I love them. 

I would do all I can to help them, and won't hurt them, but I'm not trying to be their friends. 

They know that I mean what I say, and there will be no dialog or debate. 

If they want to come in here and stay, they know they have to behave themselves, and follow directions. 

I also need to know that I have the support of parents, and that they acknowledge that where their children are concerned, we are a united front--- a team. 

I am not the enemy. 

The school system doesn't pay me enough to be afraid of or intimidated by a child, nor his or her parent."

One needed not resort to any of the various methods now deemed corporal punishment, either, (although just one good old fashioned trip to the woodshed may have been just what a few kids--and parents--may have needed). 

Most parents would admit they wouldn't trade places with a school teacher for a minute. 

I remember the neighborhood parent who used to be a veritable hellion in her criticism of the school and teachers, and her defense of her children. Then, she became a school security guard. 

From that day on, she was the biggest, most outspoken advocate in the community for teachers, and the biggest critic of parents who raised the most hell, but whose presence at the school was rare.

There is a way to deal with children, whereby they know you love them, will protect, and go to bat for them. 

Defending them when they're wrong, making excuses for, minimizing, being amused by, or putting up with disrespectful words and behavior, however was, and is never smart. 

When there is no mention of consequences, or parents are inconsistent, it's not long before children begin to see themselves as their parents' equal. 

If they see their parents as people who can be easily manipulated, it's not long before they see other adults as pushovers, too.

I listen to the way some children talk to their parents and I cringe. 

I see kids in public behaving ridiculously while their parents seem to have lapsed into a coma, and I can imagine my late mother, late grandmothers, or any adult from my childhood whose mere look in a child's direction could freeze inappropriate behavior in a matter of seconds. 

Sometimes, I think it has become easier to drug children and give their behavior a name, than to take the time required to teach them right from wrong.

Some parents act as if they just don't want to be bothered, and don't care what their children do. Some don't want anyone to say anything to their children. They say they can handle them, but they either don't, or won't do it. 

Further, they expect the people upon whom they unleash their children to understand.  (So you're NOT going to turn down the volume on the video game you brought to church, close the zip lock bag of goldfish crackers, pick up the crumbs from the floor, and just let your child kick, scream and cry through the ENTIRE sermon, ARE you? 

Then you're going to get all mad and offended when you're asked to step out, or an usher comes to save the day for everyone? Then you have the nerve to conclude that people can buy the tape? So they can do what? Meditate on, and reminisce about your child's meltdown and your inconsideration?...but, of course, I digress.)

I wish I would have talked back to either of my parents, let alone hit one of them. 

I imagine there would have been vehicles from two government agencies outside our home: The police and the coroner. Guess which one I would have been riding in? Mine would have been a lovely funeral where everyone would have commented on how well the undertaker fixed my corpse's swollen lip. 

The thought that either of my parents would be afraid of me, never crossed my mind at any stage of my life. Not listening to either of them just wasn't an option. 

(Case in point: Four of the 12 rolls were a little browner than the others on Thanksgiving Day, because my father said "It's time to pray over the food." That meant stop what you're doing and head to the table NOW. 

Did I mention I'm not 8 years old? )

Good home training sticks, and it can't suddenly start when a child is looking at you eye to eye.

There is a huge difference, however, between a defiant, disrespectful, unruly, child whose parents failed to discipline and teach respect/manners, and a mentally ill child whose parents don't know what to do, beg for help, but don't get it.
She's an adult, and taller than I am, but I can't imagine being afraid of my own child. 

Anyone from the "I brought you in this world, and I'll take you out" generation, gets it. Those who managed to survive the school of thought which had mantras like:
"I won't have NOTHING in my house that I can't control!", or
"You don't have any rights. You do what you're told.", or
"Don't embarrass me. Wherever you act up, is where you're gonna get it.", have a VERY hard time watching kids run roughshod over their exasperated parents. 

Hearing parents say, "I just don't know what to do with him/ her" makes some old-schoolers shake their heads and mutter, "Give that kid to me for one day, and I bet you won't have any more trouble out of them."

MODERN CLASSROOM: A RANT

Lots of information on the walls

For official observers to see

Lots of ideas for lessons to learn

But, it's too bad they can't read

Smart mouthed, foul mouthed, defiant ones

Live to challenge you

Sad, they don't have sense enough

To see the harm they do

It's on themselves that they project

The greatest, darkest light

Failing to appreciate, their actions are not right

Manners lost; kindness missing

Just basic rules they lack

Never knowing why they're here

But they keep coming back

I heard one say, "This school is dumb"

I said, "But wait. You're here".

I guess he hadn't thought of that

As his smirk disappeared

He said that "the academy" he'd attended, called him "bright"

The only reason he's now here's, because he chose to fight

"They put me out", he said as if he didn't understand

Acting a fool is something for which some schools just won't stand

And so, it seems that some places 

Have become the dumping ground

Where disruption has no consequence

And order can't be found

And those who do know how to behave

Whose hopes to learn are so sincere

Spend endless days in chaos

Thinking, "Get me out of here!"

There's no amount of money

No new technology

To hide the fact that scores of kids

Are woefully in need

They're crying for attention

That's what it's all about

The way they've chosen, sadly

Is to spend days acting out

The talking back, the disrespect

The words that bite and sting

For some, has removed all the joy

From this noble teaching thing

Too many getting punished

For daring to do right

Too many get uprooted

Before kids see the light

But someone knows what's going on

It's so hard not to care

Could it be systematic

This failure in the air?

We know what works

We know what won't

We could set all things right

The elephant that's in the room

Is fueling all the blight

It's time to get control of things

The time to act is now

Dysfunction breeds in apathy

You get what you allow

THURSDAY THOUGHTS: QUALIFIED?

 

I just watched an episode of "Yes Minister" on PBS station, WETA-UK. 

How ironic it was, in light of recent events. 

Apparently there weren't enough qualified women in senior civil service positions in that fictional world, either.

Many people watch the lives of others with great interest, and apply what they've observed to their own. 

What they see can either inspire, or discourage them.

 

I've heard so many women say of Halle Berry: 

"If SHE gets cheated on, what hope is there for me?" 

Women saw what happened to the woman they assumed every man--including their own--should desire. She has it all, doesn't she? 

Nevertheless, she too experienced rejection.

Another woman has been in the spotlight lately, and she also appears to have it all. 

She, too, seemed to be one who could write her own ticket, or be easily swept into any important leadership position. 

Unfortunately, people who couldn't hold a candle to her in terms of education, service, or credentials, blocked her path. 

I hope no young woman is considering putting the brakes on her educational/ professional hopes, dreams, or ambition because they witnessed the pitiful way Susan Rice was treated by Congress. 

There's a standard, and there's an assumption--an expectation even--when someone reaches a pinnacle in their academic and professional life, that they would be given a certain amount of consideration, respect, and even favor.  

It would seem that Susan Rice has done all the right things a Black child is often told one MUST to do: 

be twice as good, 

study and work twice as hard, 

mind your manners,

and stay out of trouble.

 

Since when is putting forward the best and the brightest a bad thing? 

Why is stupidity applauded while intelligence inspires skepticism?

What is this aversion to excellence?

As I watched, I was reminded of a Tonight Show segment where Jay Leno asks questions of people on the street, and they prove to know more about popular culture than Mathematics, Science, or History.

 

If I hear one more person brag about American exceptionalism, I might scream. 

TWITTER ART EXHIBIT

I like Twitter, and I love to paint, so it's probably no surprise that I think the Twitter Art Exhibit is such a great idea. Who isn't happy to support a worthy, artsy cause which ensures that all of the proceeds benefit legitimate charities?
My intention was to complete one postcard and send it on it's merry way, but it appears I've gotten a little carried away. Perhaps I've grown fond of the dimensions set by the exhibit organizer's guidelines.
I asked my daughter for her opinion, and she suggested I send the "Mother and Child". Hmmm...

It's not too late to participate. For details, visit 
http://twitterartexhibit.org/callforartists

A GOOD DAY

Today is my Dad's 86th birthday, and we successfully kept secret the arrival of my big sister. It was so nice for my family to be together today. I'm grateful...happy...and sleepy....: )

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: TAXI!

I'm watching the DC taxi cab undercover operation with interest. 

I admit, I'll hop in a taxi in a heartbeat, as opposed to taking the bus or train. 

I'm working on rekindling my teenage appreciation for public transportation, though. 

The blunders I've made riding METRO recently make me wonder if I'm a real Washingtonian. Sometimes I feel as if I'm the only one eyeballing the map for dear life. I'm going to master the system, though. It is convenient, and much, much less expensive.

I don't like wasting time, nor extreme heat or cold, so ever since a friend shared 202-TAXI-CAB, I've known I have a taxi at my fingertips if I:

don't want to drive, 

know that parking will be a nightmare, 

or need to get somewhere in a hurry. 

It's disappointing to hear, "We can't find a driver for you. We'll keep trying". 

Unfortunately, I've heard it a lot more than, "Your taxi _______, will arrive in ______ minutes". 

When you're in a hurry, or just prefer the convenience, it seems strange that in all of DC, not a single taxi is in Ward 8. 

Due to waiting long periods of time, or not getting a taxi dispatched to my address at all, I have conducted my own unscientific poll. 

I've asked every taxi driver I've encountered about the standard of service--or lack thereof--East of The River. They all sing the same song: 

"A few people make it bad for everyone else." 

They frankly state that they are fed up, as a result of personal encounters with dishonest, threatening, shady looking, and/or unruly/profane passengers. ONE time is all that is needed for someone to hop out without paying, threaten safety, destroy property, etc., for a taxi driver to skip Ward 8.

If it is a recurring problem, as unfair as it may be, conclusions are drawn, and decisions are made to only hack downtown (where the bulk of the business is) and avoid EoTR altogether. 

The price of gasoline is too high, and life is too short to deal with foolishness, when all they want to do is earn an honest living. 

As awful as it is that Black men may have difficulty getting a cab in DC, it is important to respect and find solutions to the very valid reasons why.

In the cases of taxis I've hailed, they simply don't want to go where trouble is reported to be. 

I hear the apprehension in their voices when I get settled in the back seat and say, "No. Not the waterfront. You'll have to cross the river." 

Almost always, they'll sigh heavily and say, 

"You'll have to tell me where to go.", or ask 

"Is it far?" 

Once I arrive at home, I almost always have to direct them back to 295 North, or tell them how close the are to National Harbor and The Capital Beltway. 

It amazes me that so many drivers never venture across the river, or are aware of the new traffic patterns.

Sometimes I feel like an ambassador for my neighborhood, trying to convince a driver that he won't spontaneously combust the minute he veers off of the SE/SW freeway onto South Capitol Street! Many scan the area as they drive. "Oh. This is nice. Looks just like other parts of the city." 

Well duh...

They comment positively about a part of the city they've never seen, as if they're surprised to see human beings walking upright. 

Once they see that far SE/SW isn't the hell they've been warned it is, their anxiety wanes. 

They see that there ARE law-abiding, pleasant, hard-working people who DO need and appreciate their services. 

There are people EoTR who DO pay in full, and DO tip, with real, negotiable, legal tender.

Seeing something for oneself, often changes one's perceptions. 

Perhaps a little PR is in order for neighborhoods East of The River. Until then, many EOTR residents obtain the business cards of reliable taxi drivers, and phone them directly to see if they're on the job, or nearby when they've got someplace to go.

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

I thought I'd be in bed a little longer, but my rest was interrupted.

I finally drifted off to sleep after figuring out how to escape the bass coming from someone's condo. 

Into the ridiculous hours of the morning, the thumping went on. 

Perhaps, a party was going on, but at some points, it didn't seem like the party-goers liked each other. 

I noticed the voice of the neighborhood person I've dubbed "The Loud Lady". 

I've never met her, but I'm imagining some towering amazon of a woman, with a scowl like the cartoon version of The Incredible Hulk. 

I thought about dialing 911, but the police have more important things to do than crash loud parties, I guess, like figuring out who's deciding it's a good idea to just shoot off guns in the middle of the night, or drag race up and down South Capitol Street.

It's amazing how far the human voice can carry. 

This morning, it came crashing through the gentle sound of the falling rain like a sledgehammer. 

A woman was yelling like the world was coming to an abrupt end. 

I got up and went to the window.  

"No! No! It's a black bag and a white bag! It wasn't just one bag!", she screamed.

I was sure she would be fast asleep so early in the morning, but I was mistaken. The Loud Lady (aka The Loud Party Lady) had her family looking for her missing white and black bags this fine morning. 

Poor things were rummaging through the dumpsters in the rain as she yelled out of the window from the warmth of her condo. 

I sure hope they find them, and am sorry the bags, apparently, weren't in the dumpsters-- which made their unfortunate, stinky, early morning hunt totally unnecessary.

Did I mention she's not even in my building? That's right. 

That's what makes it so remarkable. She's in another building on another street, but when she gets to yelling and/or arguing--or even talking on the phone, if I purposed to pay attention, I could hear every word. 

I don't know that I've ever heard a woman be so loud. 

Her voice carries so unbelievably far, that she should work for...well...some organization that needs the services of really loud people. 

My windows are closed. I'm behind brick and mortar and glass, but when she revs up, look out. It's harsh and shrill, and her tone is angry and impatient. It's a shame to wake up that way.

She's not the only loud one around here. 

Another lady, instead of climbing the stairs to knock on the door of the person she intends to visit, yells her name from the time she sees the building until she enters it. It's positively startling. 

Then, instead of taking her attempt at surroundsound inside, when she finally reaches her destination, she decides it's best to remain in the stairwell so that we all can be privy to what's going on. 

When she leaves, obviously she still has things to say because she keeps talking on the way down the stairs. 

I wonder why she doesn't just finish her conversation face to face, or tone it down a little? Looking for attention, maybe?

I know way too much information that I shouldn't about lost bags, drunkenness, appointments, cheaters, pizza preferences, rehab, Chinese food, and vomiting cats.

I guess I won't be enjoying the convenience of the laundry room any more.

10:12. Sirens blaring. 

Yep. I'm awake, and it's okay. 

Thanks, Lord. I appreciate it. 

Better to be able to hear The Loud Lady and the sirens, than to be unconscious on a stretcher inside that ambulance.

SECURITY AND HINDSIGHT

It's not hard to detect when a show is being put on just for you. 

The lengths to which an insecure person will go, to convince others of the legitimacy, perfection, and reality of their situation can be extensive, repetitive, and even pathetic. 

Forget about the impressions, or perceptions you want others to have. Be honest with yourself. 

What do you know to be true?

Whatever you have is not much of a prize if you feel you have to spend any time demonstrating how great it is, or keeping constant tabs on it. 

There's a difference between appreciation, thankfulness, and gratitude, and desperate boasting and inappropriately timed displays of affection that are seldom, if ever, returned in kind.

You know when something truly belongs to you. 

You don't have to declare it, or smother it. 

You know when, or if it has a tendency to slip away on occasion; ignore loyalties and covenants, and perhaps that's where the need to be obnoxious, clingy, and demonstrative comes from. 

When it's great, and unbreakable, others will see and acknowledge it, concede and respect that it's yours.

The admiration and respect that a mutually loving relationship brings is unmistakable, and practically impossible not to acknowledge and respect. 

However, if it is obvious that you haven't quite succeeded in convincing yourself that what you have is secure, viable and strong, it will show, and you will inadvertently invite competition, pity--and even thieves.

Sometimes, it's not others who need to be schooled, shown, or convinced. They won't be affected one way or the other by the things you do to try and make them sad, mad, envious, or uncomfortable about your possessions--especially  if they know the truth of a matter. 

Too often, the truth they know is that, if they really wanted it, they can have what you've got at any time, and on their own terms-- without even trying. 

How do they know? 

One's own actions scream it in surroundsound.

************************************************

You've always been clear. You could have cleared the air long ago, but the silence you maintained was the silence they preferred. You know that the truth never needs defending. It's obvious to those who want to see it.

Every time they encounter you, they want to take you aside; sit down; talk to you; pick your brain, but they always hesitate. 

All they can manage is a smile. 

You smile back. 

There are many notes you could compare. They know you've never meant them any harm. They also know you never did nor said all of the heinous things they've been told. They know you aren't who someone else says you are. 

Those who rely on them to sustain themselves, are invested in lies, and dependent upon your continued silence. After all, gravy trains are difficult for some people to disembark. 

Saving face, pride, and hanging on to bad investments often eclipses making sound, liberating decisions.

They have so much to say to you; so much to clarify. They wish you to be the bad guy; their enemy. It would make their stance easier. It would explain their fierce defense of the indefensible. 

Deep down, they have to acknowledge that you neither look, nor act the part of a nemesis. They've painted you as such, though. They have to, and you know who's been regularly supplying the paint. It helps their narrative, and their self image to brand you the bad guy, but the paint doesn't stick. They know better. Everyone knows better, and everyone, trained in the art of minding their own business, remains silent, too. 

You did nothing wrong; nothing inappropriate, but a great deal of harm was done to you. They fear and know you're just another victim of someone they trust--except Mercy and Grace snatched you away.

 

You were bruised and deceived, but you're okay now. It took a while to recover, but you're over it all, and thankful for the lesson. They're, however, still in it--up to their necks--and getting out would be problematic, traumatic, and expensive. 

They have so many questions, but they already know the answers. They just don't want to hear them from you. It would mean they'd have to reevaluate everything they think, feel, and believe about someone they love and trust, or the situation in which they've invested so much.

They eventually stop treating you like a leper; stop trying to intimidate you; stop invading your space; stop trying to shame you and make you envious. They know that there's nothing to envy. They've stopped thinking that you want to be in their shoes. Many days, they don't want to wear them, either. 

They used to think you wanted what they have. Many days, they don't want it either. 

They've learned how to cope, and keeping up a facade has them working overtime.

 

You, however, have learned how to be thankful for the bullet you dodged.

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: WHEN OLD AND NEW SCHOOL MEET

I congratulated my niece on her upcoming student-teaching assignment. She's a nice, sensitive, hard-working person. She's also a mom. Chances are, she'll be one of those caring teachers, who won't back down when it comes to the welfare of a child. 

Chances are, she'll be one of those teachers who arrives early, and leaves late. 

I'm praying for her, because her biggest challenges may not come from her future students at all, but from their parents.

I watched the evening news, and the lead story was about a bunch of kids who decided it would be a good idea to steal cell phones from Metro riders. The whole time I was watching, one question kept repeating in my mind-- "Who, and where are their parents?"

I read how shocked and appalled some people are about the lengths to which school systems go to handle unruly students of all ages. 

In a climate where some parents don't want ANYONE to say ANYTHING to their children when they're behaving like rabid spawns of Satan, and where EVERY disciplinary method is considered corporal punishment, it's no wonder that the police may be summoned to handle even the littlest, seemingly harmless elementary school student. 

Frankly, I don't think it's over the top. I've heard parents say, "If you can't handle a kid, maybe you shouldn't be a teacher!" The problem is, what constitutes "handling"? What are we talking about? Time out? Spanking? A good talking-to?

Only a conscientious parent, who makes random surprise visits to their child's school, can testify what a different animal their child is when they're away from home. Sometimes people have to see their children in action. The blinders fall off. Then, they form the alliance necessary for "the village" to thrive.

 

However, when given the choice of potentially losing one's job, being arrested, being branded an abuser for correcting a child, or calling the police, perhaps 911 is the number to remember and call. 

Some parents simply abhor the thought of their children being corrected by others. These are the same parents who unleash their spoiled rotten offspring on an unsuspecting world, while they make one excuse after another. 

These are the same parents who are swiftly litigious, and nastily defensive deflectors. 

They're the same ones who are quick to invoke their rights. 

They're the ones who are the primary answer to the question: "What's wrong with that kid?"

One of my former co-workers used to say, "Follow a fool home from school, and you'll FIND a fool." 

Her quip would inspire laughter, but it really was more sad than funny. Though it was sometimes true, it was not always applicable. 

Some parents, for whatever reason, simply missed the window within which they should have been instilling basic home training:

They laughed when they should have been appalled. 

They defended when they should have been denouncing. 

They looked away, when they should have been paying attention. 

They took offense when they should have said, "Thank you".

They blamed everyone and everything except themselves.

Granted, some parents are overwhelmed. Perhaps they don't know how to control their children, but when a kid is acting a fool in a public place, what's the public to do? 

The heavy sighs, under-the-breath mumbles, complaints, looks of disgust, moves in the opposite direction, and sarcastic comments may come, but they don't change much--except to prompt overwhelmed, (and maybe embarrassed) parents to ask "What are YOU looking at?" or yell, "Mind your business!"

 

Some parents may be shamed into action, because deep down, they know they could do something to stop the madness. Is it that they're afraid of their own kid, or afraid of what some idiot will say if they dare to do their job, and correct the person they brought into the world? 

Others will literally defend their kid's behavior, and bite off the head of anyone who dares to address the antics they witness. 

Just when is enough enough? It would seem that if one cannot handle a situation, one would welcome the assistance of someone who can.

I recall shopping in a Reston, VA Target store, and couldn't believe the way two children were allowed to run all over the store. It was as if their mother just released them as they cleared the automatic doors and said, "Simulate a cyclone while I find your sister a pair of shoes." 

Another mother got on everyone's nerves by constantly calling out to her son, who was having a ball knocking down clothes, and rolling on the floor. As she shopped, she couldn't seem to find him, but other shoppers had no problem locating him, as he emerged from clothes racks and aisles. 

I simply walked up to him and asked, "Don't you hear your mother calling you?"  He stopped in his tracks, and his eyes got as big as half-dollar pieces. Embarrassed as she approached, her response was to tell him, "See? That's enough. We're leaving. I can't shop with you". 

My mother, God rest her soul, would never, EVER have cut her shopping short because I had been misbehaving! Leaving the store simply would not have been an option. God knows their departure was a relief to everyone in the store that day, but what message did it send to her kid? 

"I'm in control. 

I can manipulate my mom. 

I can act a fool, and her only reaction will be embarrassment. 

My actions have no consequences."

If you had, or have parents who took the time to teach you right from wrong, you ought to be grateful. My Dad used to say things like, "I don't care if everybody is doing the wrong thing, you do the right thing." and "If you see something wrong, and you don't say anything, you're just as wrong." 

It's not always fun being old-school these days, but it's not regrettable either. Speaking up, however, can get you in a mess you weren't anticipating. 

Do you say something, or do you shake your head and mutter how awful the world has become? 

Do you try to impart helpful advice or instruction and risk getting cursed out, or do you mind your business, tell yourself that you'll never have to encounter certain people or situations again, and remain silent? 

The lessons taught, that cause one to consider good manners, kindness, compassion, empathy, and courtesy among life's valuable things, are awfully hard to forget. You have to remember, though, that everyone was not raised in your mother's house.

When I was in elementary school, we used to have a special event in the combination gymnasium/ auditorium that was called "Assembly". 

During the gathering, the principal and assistant principal, assisted by our teachers, would demonstrate how we were to behave during a public performance or program. The lesson also included how to enter, be seated, and exit in an orderly fashion. We learned that our behavior impacted the people around us. Consideration for others, while enjoying a performance wasn't impossible. I wonder if school systems even do that any more.

On Sunday, I attended a church-sponsored event at a popular banquet venue. 

After being seated, it became apparent that the table behind me was where many parents had deposited their children when they arrived, while they enjoyed the program and their meal from another part of the room. 

For several hours, my chair was bumped by one kid or another, who was running back and forth. Short of cutting off my circulation, I scooted my chair as close to the table as I could to avoid them as they whizzed by. 

The children came to the event equipped with electronic games and toys, too. Apparently some proactive parents anticipated that their little darlings would get bored, but what they didn't consider was how their children's behavior would impact the people who were unfortunate enough to be seated near them. 

The kids carried on conversations all night. While that was neither surprising nor unusual, and the band drowned out much of their goings-on, a problem arose for this old-school attendee when the invited speaker went to the podium. 

There was a competition going on, and the kids were winning. I wondered if anyone was going to say anything to quiet them, or require them to take their seats. The speaker forged on in spite of it. He knew he didn't have everyone's attention or interest, and I felt particularly bad for him. 

Adults were talking, utensils were clinking, people were walking, and children took repeated trips to the unmanned buffet for second helpings. 

My proximity to the kids table made it difficult for me to ignore them. I finally turned around and asked them to keep it down, pointing out the speaker in case they hadn't noticed him. The noise continued and got progressively louder. I turned around again with intentions to address the ring leader. It was at that time that I heard a woman say, "No! Leave my son alone!" 

Tact had completely left me at that point. Had I turned my head a little further, I would have seen her seated at the table. Surely she must have been asleep. I just KNEW she wasn't voluntarily identifying herself as a parent! 

Before I could catch myself, I was on my feet addressing her. "Oh, so you ARE here! Then why don't YOU say something to him?" 

Her defensive, matter-of-fact response was that other people were talking, too. I asked her if that made what her child was doing any better, right, or proper. 

I was angry at that point. I told her, un-apologetically, with all of my experience as a teacher and a mom to back it, that her child's problem was her. Too far? Probably. But I do know I didn't hear another peep from the kiddie table for the rest of the night. Suddenly, people were dutifully paying attention to their children, and I could actually hear the speaker! 

Did I make an enemy? Probably. Is it wise for a parent to alienate the extra eyes and ears in the village that will willingly, and often accidentally, assist in the raising of a child? Nope. By making it clear that her child should be able to be as obnoxious and undisciplined as he wanted, when and wherever he wanted, in front of him, she created work for herself. I knew I'd probably never see either of them again.

I realize that I took full advantage of the fact that I would soon have a microphone in my hand. It was definitely not a good idea for me to have to get up and sing immediately after my encounter with that mother. I went there to sing, not to lecture, babysit, or be on kiddie-table duty, and definitely not to get into a confrontation with an oblivious parent. 

Since I did, though, I thought it best to make an apology, not for what I said or did, but for any child who was being fooled into thinking that being upheld by their parent, when they are dead wrong, is a good thing. 

I was sorry for the mother who either could not, or would not make sure her child was behaving. I was sorry for the people all around who felt powerless to speak up. I learned later that there was a reason. Others had tangled with this mother before--at church--and decided it wasn't worth the headache.

How deep and distant is the oblivion to which parents travel, when in the company of their own kids? 

How much, in their deluded minds, should others be able to bear? 

What stupor are they lulled into that partially disables their eyes and ears? 

There is one thing, however, that is guaranteed to bring them back to reality, and that is the sound of an exasperated adult voice daring to say what the parent should be saying: 

"Sit down!", 

"Stop that!", 

"Be quiet!", 

"Say excuse me!", 

"Leave that alone!", 

"Be polite.", 

"Where are your manners?", 

"Show some respect!", 

"You are not outside!", 

"That doesn't belong to you!", 

"Come here, now!"

It never ceases to amaze me. 

Some parents don't show any signs of life, until someone else has the audacity to speak to their out-of-control child. 

If a parent doesn't want anyone to say anything to their little darling, whose inappropriate behavior is excused, considered cute, or visited upon others, then WHY won't they snap the heck out of their coma and say something themselves? 

Why not make sure their child is seated near them? That aggression used to tell people off, who have had enough of one's unruly child, can be best used to check and correct their child. 

To show utter disrespect for others by allowing a child or children to mess up an event, hinder learning in a classroom setting, ruin a theater, restaurant, or shopping experience, or treat another person's home like a romper room, is ridiculous. 

If one has the balls to angrily engage an adult, they should have the balls to confront their own kid, and stop the negative behavior---before the police are summoned. The police, by the way, are under no obligation to love, understand, or coddle them.