IT’S a spectacular day at Harmony Playground in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, with children swinging and running through sprinklers. An “icy man” with his pushcart of fruit ices stands near the jungle gym, as parents look toward the gated entrance. A second ices vendor enters, also setting up shop inside the playground’s cast-iron fence.
Ever since Katherine had an inconsolable meltdown about not being able to have a treat, Ms. Sell has been trying to have unlicensed vendors ousted from the park. She has repeatedly called the city’s 311 complaint hot line, joining parents nationwide who can’t stand the icy man or his motorized big brother, the ice cream man.“I feel kind of bad about having developed this attitude,” she said. “I want Katherine to have the full childhood experience and all. But it’s really predatory for them — two of them — to be right inside the playground like this.”
Ya know what? I think little Katherine is destined for a life of therapy - and the accompanying victimhood - because of her libtard idiot mother. The one who can't say "no" and lives in fear of a THREE-YEAR-OLD having a "inconsolable meltdown." Last time I cheked the dictionary, if it truly was inconsolable, little Kathy is still harboring those feelings and will likely kill Mommy in her sleep before she starts kindergarten.
Predatory?! Lady, it's a guy selling ices. Instead of setting rules with your daughter - ya know, telling her she can one or two a week and for those days when she can't, having a special treat you brought from home - you want to f****n' SHUT DOWN THE ICE CREAM MAN!
NO ONE PUTS THE ICE CREAM MAN IN THE CORNER, B***H!
The late night ice cream cone, eaten on a sultry and hot Bronx summer night, when you and your family and your neighbors are out on the stoop because it's just too hot inside, is a long-time tradition. About 9 o'clock, Mr. Softee would come by and everyone would have "a little something." If Grandma or Grandpa weren't outside, Mom would have you run inside to see what they wanted. It didn't happen every night, but a couple of times a week.
Mama Sell "repeatedly called the city's 311 complaint hot line?" What a waste of government resources. Oh, but I bet she thinks it all comes free. Every village has an idiot and I just found Prospect Park's.
4 comments:
You just can't write better stuff than this... holy cannoli!
And, (later in life) when asked by the doctor if she thinks Mama Sell should get that hip replacement, will passionately say: "No hips for Mama-Wouldn't-Buy-Me-A-Treat! Deep six her, doc."
Mommy, Fear Us.
Cracks me up that parents are so concerned about eliminating every ounce of adversity from their child's life, that...rather than just saying "NO" and sticking to it...they're going to get rid of the ice cream man?! Incredible!
I heard about this earlier today on local talk radio.
I called in and said that, as the mom of a 2 1/2 year old, there are times when his meltdowns are SPECTACULAR. You know what? The problem is NOT with the thing(s) that cause his meltdowns, but that he's TWO AND A HALF YEARS OLD and doesn't like being told NO.
That's a problem *I* have to deal with as a parent. And I do. I would never imagine saying the local playgrounds have to close at 6 pm because my son won't leave without having a fit, or that the ice cream guy who drives through our apartment complex at least TWICE a day needs to go away because my kid has a snit he can't have a Popsicle. He has a fit, he goes in time out.
And you know what? IT WORKS.
I'm so sick and tired of these "parents" who decide they can't handle all the demands of the real world, therefore they need to dictate conditions for everyone else to make their job easier. Do they demand Target hide all the toys because their kid *might* have a tantrum if she can't have a Barbie?
Parenting is hard, sacrificial work. If you ain't up to the task, please do us all a favor and don't create a generation of self-entitled, whiny brats who expect the world to cater to them when they're adults because you had no cojones to discipline them when they were still in diapers.
Just don't be Grinches who take away the ability of parents who KNOW how to parent to treat our kids to a freakin' cone of chocolate ice cream...
She ain't seen nothin'. The ice cream truck that worked the projects down by my old job played "Little Brown Jug". (For you young skulls full of mush, that's a tune about moonshine whiskey.) Now that's insidious! :-)
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