One of the truly great delights in life has to be other people’s children.
All that pleasure in the company of such little folk, but no responsibility. No setting boundaries to the march of their notions. No discipline to be imposed. No “no!”. No “stop”. You give them back for all of that.
There is nothing as hilarious, or terrifying if you are of a sensitive disposition (I believe), as watching a toddler in full tantrum. And the shocking fairness of it all. President or pauper it does not matter to those seriously disenchanted and terrible twos. Their full furious wrath is spread with admirable equality on all.
To a neutral observer it can be overwhelming to behold the otherwise powerful reduced to helpless desperation by a mite in full ferocious flight. Their embarrassment and impotence is limitless as the screaming show goes on and on regardless, with all the blunt indifference of a force of nature.
But best of all is a happy child in tranquil mood. On the train recently a small girl sat with her mother while across from them was a man lost in his world of two mobile phones. The father?
His disinterest, as the child chirpily narrated a conversation between a toy car and a doll she weaved through a journey, using both hands, suggested he had either heard it all before or just was not interested. Both?
The child’s mother interjected now and again with a comment to stoke the flow of the makey-up story. It was a charming scene of innocence at play except for he who would remain blind. So there was relief when he did not get off the train as they did. He was not with them after all.
The innocence of children leaves few immune, even when it leads to the unexpected. My mother (89) was shopping recently and dropped a loaf in the local supermarket. There was just one other person in the aisle, a three-year-old girl who had probably wandered away from her parents.
Mother, who is less than supple now, asked the child to pick up the loaf for her. The three-year old was unequivocal. “F**k off,” she said, and ran away. Others might be appalled, but not mother. She has got hours of mileage out of the child’s reaction since.
Child, from Old English cild
