And then there probably would have been cursing

The Huz plays soccer on a club team, and last night I went to watch his team play. He joined his teammates to warm up, and I took a seat in the bleachers armed with a book just in case the game started late. The game that was going on was less like a game and more like 15 little kids running in circles and kicking the soccer ball aimlessly. There were a handful of parents in the bleachers half-heartedly cheering on the doddering children on the field, and there were tons of other kids running around the indoor arena. Let me just say that I don't have a lot of experience with kids, and I find their, how shall I say, bountiful energy, to be overwhelming. There were kids chasing eachother around, bouncing basketballs wildly, running up and down the bleachers, begging for money for the candy machine, and screeeeeeeeaaaaaaming at each other or no one at all, and I had to fight to suppress the urge to choke each one of them.

There was a father sitting a few rows lower than me, and he had a small child on his lap. I'd say she was probably between one and two. The father watched as a little blonde boy ran and leaped off of the lowest level of bleachers, landing on his knees and coming to a skidding halt, at least three times. After each jump, he did a little hopping dance and murmured to himself, "Ouch ouch ouch. That huuuurt." And then he'd go do it again.

The father's eyes seemed to widen as the little boy ran up the bleachers, stomping all the way to the top, and then jumping down each level of bleachers, two feet at a time. With each earsplitting metallic explosion, I imagined how I would ream that kid out if I were his parent. I was so close to jokingly saying the the father sitting in front of me, "See what you've got to look forward to?" But I held my tongue because he probably had a kid tripping over the ball out on the field, and he's probably already living through the intolerable kid madness.

The game on the field ended, and the little kids came pouring out of the arena. The dad started putting coats on the little girl and the boy that had been playing soccer, and then he shouted, "Nolan, come get your coat!" And the little blonde boy, the one that had been terrorizing my ears and sense of reason, came pounding up the bleachers to his father. I was suddenly thankful that I hadn't said anything. But I still cannot believe that that man sat there and watched his kid act inappropriately and hurt himself. Today, I sort of wish that I'd said something. Here is the conversation I just imagined in my head:

Me: See what you've got to look forward to?

Dad: Huh?

Me: I said, see what you've got to look forward to? (and this time I'd point to the blonde kid running amok)

Dad: Oh. Heh heh. That's actually my kid.

Me: OH. (and I'd say it in that way that you say things that imply that the other person is embarrassing themselves)

Dad: What?

Me: I'm just surprised that you'd let him hurt himself and annoy everybody like this. I mean, I figured that no one was watching him or he wouldn't be allowed to act like that.

Dad: Look lady, who the hell do you think you are telling me how to parent?

Me: Whoa buddy, don't get pissed at me just cause you can't control your kid. Maybe next time you can feed him fewer Red Bulls before you go out into public. And maybe put some knee pads on him. Or you know those leashes that they make for kids? I heard they totally work.