I am curious, sir, who sat there mean-muggin’ when my precious, innocent little child waved at you with his tiny little hands, smiling with his tiny little toothy grin – who hurt you? Was your favorite family pet murdered by a gang of angry toddlers, cranky from teething and a bad nap? Maybe one unfiltered three year old was too quick and vocal to point out that you, as a man, had boobies. Maybe, just maybe, you sat in front of a tot who treated the back of your chair like a round of Dance Dance Revolution on too many times on a cross-country flight.
I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You could have simply not been paying attention at the very moment my child attempted to engage you in a friendly exchange. Perhaps you were caught up in thoughts of why the hell Scrubs did a ninth season, making your blood pressure rise a few points (I know mine does). Or my son caught you on a bad day and you were in line behind us, waiting to return your mixed nuts which were most definitely a majority peanuts. I get it.
But understand it puts a little tiny knot in my stomach anytime I see my son’s expression shift from once joyful to one of concern, like he did something wrong – like his affable demeanor somehow managed ticked you off. I sincerely hope he doesn’t run into too many people like you for fear of spoiling his sunny disposition. After all, he has a lifetime to figure out the world is full of jerks. I’d rather have him not figure that out before he can figure out how to tie his own shoes.