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do parents take their kids
do parents take their kids

do parents take their kids

Is it just me or do parents take their kids and use them in ways never imagined? On Halloween night my wife, kids and I were driving through a section of town that is, obviously, prime trick-or-treat country. The folks on this street must have been handing out full size Snicker bars and half-pound bags of M&M’s, because there was a mass of costumed humanity, the likes of which have not been seen since the last Star Trek convention. I am not at all surprised by that. I am surprised, though, by the way parents were all too willing to toss their little goblins into oncoming traffic in order to get to the house across the street before the guy handing out the Whitman’s Sampler boxes went dry and shut off the porch light. There were cars, in both directions at a virtual standstill while the parents dragged their candy crazed pirates, ghosts and boogie men into the streets without any apparent concern for the ton and a half of sheet metal staring at them from each side of the road. The real kicker, though is that they looked at me as though I was the insane one and I was the one in the wrong.  https://www.kidsshield.info

This is not the only time I have noticed this phenomenon, though. I was at a super, multiple-layered shopping mall around Christmas time and I was nearly run down on multiple occasions by bargain savvy Mom’s pushing little junior in his stroller unabashedly through the melee. I was bumped, nudged and sideswiped more times than I can count. I even had to make a couple of Olympic quality hurdle attempts in order to avoid becoming an additional stroller passenger, because I’m relatively sure that there was no slowing down, me in the stroller, or not. I thought I was alone in my frustration until I came across my brother who had sweat on his brow from his very own obstacle course run through the mall and commented on the same observation. I remember him saying something about needing shoulder pads and a helmet.

This prompted me to start looking at the poor kids who were being thrust into the forefront of this bumper car mania. What I saw, over and over, was a look of shear terror as an army of kneecaps and bell bottoms rushed at their poor little confused faces. I even saw one little tyke with a death grip on the rails of his not-so-armored battering ram stroller as his Mom frantically busted through the crowd. I could hardly blame him. The last thing I’d want is to be crushed to death by some dude that had made too many visits to the Cinnabon counter in the food court. Crying, or perhaps it is better described as shrieking, was not at all uncommon amongst the little front-riding passengers. However, rather than pulling over to comfort and console little “Suzy” and risk missing out on the 50% off at the department store, the cries of the terrified little ones served, effectively, as a siren on a fire truck. People jumped, dodged and even ran to get away from the clamor while “Super Shopper” back there at the controls just followed along like she was behind a police cruiser in rush hour traffic, happy to have the advantage.