Going On The Account: Blogtober – But I Just HAVE To!

It’s day twenty of Blogtober, as I ask you for your patience…

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Her screams were not you wanted to hear that early in the morning.

No one wants to hear a little girl raise her voice under any circumstances.  The sounds produced at such times suggest something amiss is going down; a potential crime is being committed, or a danger to the group has reared it’s head.

Or there was the other option:  She wanted something she was denied, and insisted.  Forcefully.

Right there on the bus.

And the mother of the seven year old screamer was doing her best to do as parents should.  She stayed calm, listened to her irrational rationalizations for curing her ills, and patiently told her no, and why not.

At which point the whingy little darling got screechier as she doubled down on the pain she could inflict.

Yes, I am convinced with certainty that she knew what she was doing, that she not only believed that if she found just the right pitch she could get the walls to fall for her as they did for Joshua, but that she was certain where she could dial it to get there the fastest.

I have no illusions; I raised a seven year old, and remember very well what I tried to pull when I was that age.

I was almost convinced that the little whinger had been especially proficient, as I thought I could still hear her after I got off at my stop, her power pleas able to pierce the shell of the bus over the din of traffic on Broadway.  It took a moment to realize that I had gotten off the bus (fled, more like) mere moments before the troublesome tyke and her ma had also disembarked.  She was still driving her mother to a vice of her choosing while mom was patient, both of them walking together in a leisurely synchronicity, steadily on as though rehearsed.  Which, if their dynamics regularly consisted of such behavior, they probably were…

As they carried on with the carrying on, I had to take a moment to consider the timing of this, beyond just the fact that it was too f’n’ early for this crap.  The fact that there are some folks who have let their unhappiness with not having gotten their way, who have taken to drastic discussions still making loud screechy noises going into this week, days before we’re supposed to reflect on what we have, came to mind as I experienced the tyke of terror yesterday morning.  The similes were astounding to contemplate, once contemplation was possible; I’m guessing the young lady’s effective range to be about seven meters, maybe twelve without the traffic noises to baffle it…

But there’s one thing to keep in mind about crying children: They ultimately stop.  Even the worst of children realize that at some point, the Law of Diminishing Returns kicks in, and they quiet down, either to acquiesce or to connive a new plan.  And beyond that, children do grow up, they understand what is and isn’t appropriate, what is the right response to a situation.  Ultimately the storm passes, the clouds break, and progress moves on with everyone doing better in the long run.

I am beyond certain that if this youngster does remember this years later, it will be tinged with self-reflective nostalgia and cited as evidence that she has made considerable progress in her life.  Absolute worst case, the little dear grows up to be a complete shit, makes a name for herself as a real estate CEO or a member of the House of Representatives where she can say all sorts of damnable idiocies, and maybe someday learn that things can move on despite her, much the same way the adults who preceded her will soon find…

And whatever her mother used to be a lot more patient with her child than I was with mine, I wish I could have a double of that this week…