Kids: Opinions Oft-Shared, But Never Spoken

I am going to say something that many feel, but would never admit openly, knowing the shit they would take. So, friends, I’ll say it and take the ass-kicking for all of us.

I don’t like children.

Not specific children, so much, but just a general distaste for the species. Kind of like hyenas on speed. I don’t know any hyenas up close and personal, but I don’t care for them either.

Why? I find most kids to be boring, manipulative, dirty, and out of control.

Yeah, I said it.

Hear me out. That’s not really a criticism.

Kids should be boring. They have limited life experience upon which to reflect and render informed observations and opinions.

“I want to be a fireman, Uncle Jim.” (Side note: I insist all children call me “uncle” even though I am of no relation or I am their grandfather. It makes me feel younger and acts to confuse them, which I enjoy. “Take my word for it,” I whisper, and put a dollar in their little paws, “I am your Mother’s brother. Think about that.” Their faces become masks of terror.)

“Fireman, hey? Risk your life for low pay and bad hours. Great idea!”

They seem so disappointed. Good. Get used to it kiddies. Life is series of gut-wrenching disappointments.

I’m not finished.

Kids are manipulative. It must be in the human genome. Adults are manipulative, too, but most adults come from a point they reasonably expect you to miss the verbal sleight-of-hand and then trap you.

A child’s manipulation is amateurish and goes something like this: “Grandpa Jim, would you like an ice cream?”

“I’m your uncle.”

“Uncle Jim, would you like an ice cream?”

(Meaning, of course, “I want an ice cream and I want you to buy it.”)

But I catch the cheap parlor trick, of course, and reply, “No, I’d really like a vodka martini up, very dry, with garlic olives. Want one?”

It doesn’t teach them not to manipulate, but rather the need to step up their game if they ever want to taste ice cream again.

Children are also too often out of control. Go to a home full of kids and you know what it looks like to lose a game of Jumanji.

Just today I was with my girlfriend in a restaurant when a kid, no shoes and no excuse for anything, blows by at full speed howling like a banshee. I smiled knowingly when she missed the “Wet Floor” sign posted prominently. She went vertical for what seemed like a couple of seconds before her head came in full-bore contact with the tile floor. You know what happened next, the usual shock, blame, tears and wailing. Instead of shame and a sincere apology to the audience. I enjoyed the show but I was in the minority.

Finally, let’s talk hygiene, or better said, absence of hygiene.

“Oh, what a beautiful baby!” as the kid projectile vomits on your perfectly beautiful $200 Zegna tie, or you stagger through the stench of shit-filled diapers that bring everyone within earshot to their knees gagging, but they say nothing.

That would be rude. It is always rude to talk badly about children.

The good news is most children eventually mature or go to child prison. In the meantime, I make the most of it and when the yard apes are around, I enjoy playing mind games in the asylum, to tease and badger the nasty little freaks relentlessly until they stop and give serious consideration to the existential question, “Why am I here?”

And they come up with no good answer.