Keep Away From Children

Children make me uneasy. I've never really taken to them. I know they're just little people, but they make me nervous. Kids have this way of seeing through bullshit that, though I admire it, terrifies me. They make me feel phony and exposed. The Ex had a lot of nieces and nephews and it took me about a year before I was comfortable enough to even make eye contact with them. I was fine with the two who arrived in the world during that relationship, since seeing as I was around from the get-go my presence would never seem odd to them. Having them in my life for a period helped me become more comfortable around kids, but I definitely won't be signing up to run a daycare anytime soon.

I'm most wary of the children of strangers. To some extent it's because, as a gay man, I'm all too aware that there are people out there who equate "gay" with "pedophile." As a result I'm paranoid that some perfectly normal adult/child interaction will be misconstrued as abnormal and I'll suddenly find myself accused of horrible, unfathomable deeds.

It's like being in a store where one of the staff is eyeing you up as if you're obviously a shoplifter. Even though I haven't lifted anything in about a decade, this would make me nervous. I'd get klutzy, my palms would sweat, and I would keep looking up to see if the staff were still watching me. Pretty much giving them every reason to believe I am a shoplifter. A really bad shoplifter. Unable to handle the pressure, I would hastily make my way to the exit, praying that I wouldn't randomly set off the anti-theft alarm on the way out (which happens to me with alarming frequency, though thankfully it's always been upon entering a store, which doesn't garner quite as accusing a look but does result in a lot of amusing confusion.)

I manage a high-end furniture store for a living. We're located in a very white, upper-middle class neighbourhood: the stroller-filled Starbucks down the street is always hopping, there are at least five beamers parked nearby at any given moment, and should you happen to spot any non-whites, 90% of the time you would be right if you assumed that they work in one of the thirty-plus local restaurants or as a nanny. It's a very family 'hood, so it goes without saying that a lot of children come through here (thank god for the nannies, or there would be even more). Most of the time I can get away with ignoring them. Hell, most of the time their parents are ignoring them, so I really don't feel bad about it. I treat them as I would any person browsing my store who obviously has no intention of purchasing anything: I say hello and don't engage in further interaction unless it becomes absolutely unavoidable.

Last week a woman came in with her young daughter, a friend, and a couple of other children. They stuck together while wandering the store, with the exception of the young daughter, who was perhaps four or five and adorably surveying items on her own. This was followed by her loudly voicing her opinions of them.

"Mom! You should buy this one. It's very comf-da-ta-bull."

I'm not sure why kids imitating the rampant consumerism of their parents is cute - it's sort of terrifying when you think about it - but it is. Unlike, say, having your child record your voice mail greeting, which has got to be one of the most annoying things ever.

Next, she wandered over towards the sales desk, which I was standing behind, to check out some silk tulips we have displayed in a large teak boat-style bowl. This bowl sits on a low shelf under a glass countertop that juts out from the front of the desk. I noticed her coming but wasn't really watching her closely as I was actually doing work at that moment. That is, until she stood up and, with a loud ding! cracked her head on the underside of the glass.

"Oh my god!" I exclaimed, expecting to see a geyser of blood pour forth at any moment. Her mother and company's heads all turned our way immediately. "Are you okay?"

The child stared at me, eyes wide, seemingly stunned, saying nothing. Her mother rushed over and knelt down beside her. As soon as her mother touched her, the girl immediately burst into tears.

"She hit her head on the glass," I said stupidly.

I felt like I should say something more, or do something. I could already see the goose egg beginning to form near her temple. But Mommy was talking to daughter and being light hearted about the injury (a technique used, I presume, to instill a sense of calm) and I just stood there with what I hope was a sympathetic expression. Mom seemed to have the situation under control, and I didn't really think it was my place to stick my nose in. Just like I wouldn't fuck around with a momma bear and her cubs, it seemed best to mind my own business. In less than two minutes, daughter had stopped crying, was gathered up in Mommy's arms, and their entourage had left the store. I inwardly cursed the glass counter - this wasn't the first time someone had hit their head on it - and then went on with my day.

I didn't think of it again until yesterday, when a co-worker informed me that Mommy had been back in the store. I must have been getting lunch or something at the time. She had told him what happened and asked him what was wrong with me.

"The more I thought about it when I got home," she said, "the more steamed I got. I mean, he didn't even offer us ice or anything. He didn't do anything."

Thankfully, my co-worker defended my integrity, informing her that that "doesn't sound like Brad to me."

What the hell? She whisked that kid out of there so fast I didn't even have a chance to offer ice. Which, I'd like to point out, is not something furniture shops generally keep on hand. She's the one who let her child roam a store unattended. When I was a kid, I had to shut up, not touch anything, and stay within sight of my parents until they were finished their business and it was time to go. This woman has the nerve to be pissed at me? It's unfortunate her cute little daughter sustained a mild head injury, but there was nothing I could have done, even if she'd given me any time to do so.

There's nothing I can do about this now either. It bothers me, though, that this woman now thinks I'm some kind of monster when I really was quite concerned. How many of her neighbourhood forty-year-old mommy friends is she slagging me off to on a daily basis? Is this her way of ridding herself of guilt for not keeping a closer eye on her child? Tosses the blame on me? Kids hurt themselves. Cuts and bruises, scrapes and bumps - even a nelly, relatively inactive child like me managed to garner a few over the years. In fact, given enough to drink, I can still manage to. It happens. You learn from it. You move on. I'm pretty sure that little girl isn't sitting at home plotting her revenge on me or her mother.

Now I realize that it's never really been children that make me uneasy. Turns out it's been the parents all along.