RAISING TROUBLE
I was in the dingy waiting room of Midas Muffler in Hollywood, with my 10-month old son bouncing all over my lap, trying to be patient but feeling rather annoyed. There was a woman waiting at the counter for the mechanic to return from what would appear to be his trip to mars. She too was trying to be patient, but it really wasn't working for her either.
"How old is your son?" She gave me her best maternal smile.
"Ten months."
"Oh, I loved that age. I have two. A boy and a girl. Ten months is such a great age. I used to spend hours just cuddling. They're so sweet and innocent." She looked at my son on my lap and smiled warmly.
He was blithely ripping apart a Modern Mechanic magazine. I recited the rhetoric about why it was wrong to wreak other people's stuff, but I really didn't care because it was keeping him entertained during the endless wait.
She watched me with this big happy smile plastered on her face. She didn't look like she was from L.A., or from anywhere in the West for that matter. My best guess, Iowa. Big, busty, mid-forties. You could smell the meatloaf on her plaid flannel work shirt. She looked out to the garage through the grimy, smudged, sliding window expectantly, and then turned back to me begrudgingly when her clerk didn't appear in the doorway.
"You must be in heaven." Her smile softened as she reflected. "The first year is so wonderful. But it just keeps getting better and better. When they learn how to walk. that is such a great time. They are exploring everything, discovering it all for the first time. And anywhere you take them is like this great adventure. They are so fun to be with between 2 and 5 during the toddler stage." She was saying all this like she was in the Way Back Machine, reliving it.
I started to get the impression that I was sitting in the audience watching her on stage and it was Howdy Doodie Time.
"Oh, and just you wait until he's around 5. You are in for a real treat! Between 5, sometimes earlier, and 9 or 10, they are so full of questions. .Why? Why? Why?. All the time. And you can tell them anything and they'll believe you!" She laughed at her own whimsy. "Oh." Heavy sigh. "That's just a magical time."
Okay. So she was a nutcase. No one in their right mind would think every aspect of raising a child was pure bliss. She looked outside again hoping to catch a glimpse of her mechanic, but the black hole in the garage must have swallowed him up. She turned back to me, and the continuing antics of my son, who was now in the process of shoving every magazine off the end table and onto the floor. He seemed to be taking particular delight in making sure he could get them off the table faster than I could get them back on.
"He really is just adorable. You must be so proud."
More like tired, but I didn't want to burst her bubble. "Yes, I am. He's really a good kid, most of the time." I gave her my best tolerant smile as I gathered the magazines off the floor for the 5th time.
"So, how old are your kids?"
Her entire demeanor seemed to shift off happy center. "Fourteen and sixteen." Her mouth took on a twisted smirk, and she continued. "I keep wondering.Who ARE these people? They can't be MY kids." She shook her head in despair. "I didn't raise them to act like this. Snotty. Lazy. Disrespectful. Unmotivated brats. I'm telling you, the only bad thing about raising beautiful babies is that they grow up to be teenagers."