Words of Wisdom

I’ve got a confession to make: I don’t like children.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my own girls and I love spending time with them and playing with them, but, except for a few exceptions, I really don’t like being around other people’s kids. Am I just a cold person, devoid of goodness, because I don’t enjoy the insatiable curiosity and musical laughter of children who are not mine?

Yesterday, Rachel went home from church with her friend Katie (one of the exceptions) for the afternoon, Diana was at work, and Bekah fell asleep on the way home, so I gently laid her in her bed and rejoiced in the fact that I would actually get some time to myself, some “me” time that seems to happen so little in my everyday life. After doing a bit of housework and reading a bit, I settled down into bed for a rare nap. But, just when my mind began to drift away into the wondrous dreamland, I hear a thundering knock on the door.

Thinking that it must be something important that would rouse me from my much-needed afternoon slumber, I quickly made my way to the door where I was greeted by two little girls – the nieces of our new neighbors.

“Hi,” the older one began, “can Rachel come out and play?”

Bleary-eyed and fuzzy-headed, I squinted a bit at her and answered, “Rachel went home with a friend after church. She’s not here.”

“Well, when will she be back.”

The bed was calling me, beckoning me, seducing me with thoughts of warm sheets and a soft pillow, “I don’t know. Probably not until tonight,” and I began to close the door.

“Wait! What about Bekah? Can she come out and play?”

Without even wondering why this girl, who is certainly older than Rachel, would want to play with a 2 year old, I tersely answered, “No, she is taking a nap.”

“Oh, okay.”

I closed the door and again journeyed back to my beloved bed, where blissful rest awaited. Ten minutes later, the incessant knocking came again.

With a sigh, I pulled myself again out of bed and literally dragged myself to the door. The same little girls were again looking up at me, “Yes?” I asked.

“Can we play in your backyard?”

This question spun around for a minute in my weary mind, bouncing about, looking for an answer among the synapses and dendrites. After a short time and due to the fact that I did not want to completely alienate our new neighbors, I acquiesced. “Sure, you can play back there.”

With thoughts of rest quickly slipping away, I rambled into the living room where I lay down on the couch, assuming the position of utmost laziness that so many men know of at this time of year, and turned on a football game. Then, a few minutes later, like mosquito buzzing in my auricle cavity, the irritating knock again disturbed my peaceful rest. So, with my moment of zen abruptly jerked from underneath me, I again trudged to the door.

“Will you come outside with us?” they asked just as sweetly as little girls can.

For most people, this sincerely asked question would probably at least generate a kind and gentle response, even if it was in the negative, but I had had enough.

“No! No!” Then, after taking a deep breath and collecting myself a bit, allowing the steam to dissipate from my ears, I calmly told them, “Bekah is still asleep so I can’t go outside.”

Then I gave them a half-hearted smile and turned back into the house, “Do you know when she’ll get up?”

“No, I don’t” Then I shut the door once again.

Soon after that, Diana returned home from work and the knocking began again, but this time I was able to pass it off to her and she gently to care of things.

Is it normal for somebody’s kids, who you hardly even know, to come play in your backyard when your own children aren’t even around? Is it normal for a parent to allow their children to do that? To be fair, the girls had played with Rachel and Bekah once before a few weeks ago, but it still seemed a bit presumptuous for them to just show up.

I guess I really am transforming into an old curmudgeon at the age of 30…