As a child, I was well loved, but… One time, when I was a young boy, my old man (Dad), yelled at me, “You have the temperament of an old man.” Not knowing what temperament meant at that time, I didn’t have an immediate retort.
Dig if you will the picture, a local winery event with band and vendors and a Saturday family crowd. Two uninterested vino connoisseurs (NOT winos) seek out a spot far from the madding crowd. A place where they can share stories and observations which challenge veracity. There it is! A pergola covered courtyard opposite the banter and the band with the expansive winery buildings in between. With appropriate glass wear and beverage acquired, seats in a semi-sunny spot are selected and the games begin. But the skeptic in the pair somehow knew that serenity found would soon devolve into paradise lost.
Dream, if you can, a courtyard. First, there arrived a quiet lady with a glass who sat an appropriate distance. Next, they came, a romantic couple who chose a table as distant as possible. After them…the deluge. Prominent among them was the young fit couple with a baby carrier and a noisy gaggle of boys trailing off after those youths spotted a corner for creating mischief. This young couple, with expansive seating still available, sat European close to our perimeter table. So be it.
“Brunswick!”, thundered the parental scream. The startling break in the quiet almost bowled me out of my chair. It seems the fit couple dad had a fit because his boy baby (improbably named Brunswick) split out of sight with the soccer jocks. Slipping out of sight with this dad ran a foul of his rules. Ok, enough, nothing to see here. Settle back into to your conversation. But minutes, seemed like seconds, later…
“Brunswick!”, boomed the now familiar mezzo-frantico voice.
Maybe I’m just too demanding. My lofting impatience hitting the ceiling, I directed barely audible invectives at the near table – you know, the kind you hear in the background when you’re giving your monthly committee status report.
“What?”, yelled back the puzzled little Brunswick. I was puzzled, too. He was clearly visible this time through the glistening concertina wire, between the deep effluent filled roadside gutters and he looked to be escaping the several stray dogs playfully chasing the urchins.
Why do they scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doting parents care.
Yeah, Dad, I get it now.