Excuse me.

I’d like to talk to you.

Yes, you. Over there. The ones with the kids. We really need to talk.

No, I’m not talking to you there, the one with the baby who’s teething. We all understand that sometimes kids get cranky, and you’re doing an admirable job of trying to console her. It’s obvious you’re trying, so I’m willing to be tolerant for that.

And I’m not talking to you, the one with the little toddler who’s sitting in the high chair squealing with joy. It’s kind of fun to turn around and watch, even when she’s dropping her crayons and french fries on the floor. It’s fun to watch, see, because you’re interacting with her and that’s why she is so happy.

And I’m not talking to the couple with the little guy who’s jumping on his seat, because I saw that you only let him do it for a few moments before you told him gently to sit down. I don't even mind when you let him wander a bit because you are right behind him, making sure he stays out of people's way and that he doesn't become a nuisance. I can see that you care about him – that you understand that he could hurt himself. I appreciate that.

I’m talking to *you*, however. You know who you are.

You’re the one with the little boy who is running all over the restaurant, getting in people’s way. You’re the one with the toddler who leans over the seat to throw food at the people behind him. You’re the one that is letting your little darling chase his brother around tables on the other side of the restaurant, despite the fact that there are people sitting at those tables. In fact, by your laughter you are actively encouraging him.

You’re the one who lets your kids sit by themselves at a movie theater so you don’t have to actually pay attention to the fact that they are throwing popcorn at each other; that they are kicking the seat of the person in front of them repeatedly; that they are bickering with each other quite loudly, and generally making it impossible for anyone sitting near them to pay attention to the film that they paid to see. You’re the one who lets your kids run wild through a store, dumping things on the ground, opening packages; breaking things that you never intend to pay for.

You’re pretending not to see them. You’re expecting someone else to watch over them. You don’t give a damn that someone over there might be trying to eat, or watch a movie, or do anything else where they really have no desire to deal with your kids wreaking havoc.

I’m here to tell you something that might shock you. You want to know why people like me don’t like kids? You want to know why it is that people like me curl their lips when they see people walk in with little kids in tow? You want to know why it is that people like me will ask to be seated anywhere but next to a table full of children? Why it is that you hear muttered comments; why you get nasty looks?

You’re the reason. You. Yes you. Oh, your kids are actually the ones making noise; throwing things; breaking things. Your little brats are the ones that are kicking the seats or running around in the aisles. But I can’t blame them. They’re not old enough to know better, and even if they might be old enough, no one is teaching them.

I blame you. You, the parent. The one who doesn’t understand that being a parent means actually *being* the parent. Us child-free-by-choice people can tolerate a lot of things from kids. We can sympathize with the mom of the baby who cries in the crowded airplane. Heck, on some of those flights, we feel like crying too. We can sympathize with the parent of the toddler who’s simply had enough for the day, and we might even flash you an understanding smile when you walk by looking frazzled. We can tolerate one heck of a lot when it is obvious that the parents involved are at least *trying*. None of us were perfect children and we don’t expect yours to be either. But we can expect that at least you will be doing your best to teach them what behavior is and isn’t appropriate.

So don’t expect any sympathy, or understanding, or tolerance from me when you’re what’s causing the problem. They’re your kids. If you don’t want to deal with them, leave them at home. Find someone else to watch them. But don’t take them out in public and terrorize everyone else because you can’t be bothered to actually pay attention to them. Don’t let them run wild and expect the waitress or the sales clerk or the flight attendant to look after them. That’s not their job. And don’t even begin to give me or anyone else dirty looks when we stop your child from doing something destructive or from doing something that could get them hurt because you can’t be bothered to do it yourself.

And most of all, don’t you dare start complaining about how awful people like me are because we don’t like children. Because you see, it’s not all children we don’t like. It’s just yours.

Like it or not, you’re a parent. That means it’s your responsibility to teach that kid manners. It’s your responsibility to make sure your offspring aren’t doing something they’re not supposed to be. You made that choice to become a parent. It was your decision, not anyone else’s. So taking care of what you brought into the world – and that includes watching them; disciplining them; teaching them right from wrong – that’s not anyone else’s job. It’s yours. And it’s time you grew up and did it.