The utterance by one coffee-shop denizen, “What’s with all these people and babies?” hit me like an errant squash ball.
It wasn’t enough to sting, but it was enough to make my head numb with its derisive tone. And the issuer of such exasperating comments was a middle-aged woman who seemed to be insulted by the fact humans procreate.
Once you have children and go on a walkabout with a stroller, you realize how insensitive and discourteous some people are, in particular the city and its slickers. Perhaps I’m a cynic, but the discourteous outnumber those with manners these days.
Toronto is rife with mobility and accessibility issues. And when there are accessible elevators, you notice people, who don’t require them but use them, are commonly the most impatient and impertinent of the lot.
Then there are the looks. I don’t understand why people mulling about in the dregs of their existence suffer from a subconscious loathing of those who have children. I don’t want to assume anything, or label their dispositions, because that drops me into the same judgmental quagmire they wade through.
It seems these days the two most common aspects of human nature — childbirth and death — are considered the most unnatural processes.
Then again, it’s inevitable you’ll run into someone with a chip on their shoulder, who seeks the bossomy comfort of their like-minded saps in the city. It’s just the law of numbers.
But I digress.
Through the haze of discourtesy, or genuine disinterest among those who dwell in the depths of the city, raising a child, and transporting them to-and-fro isn’t that much of an ordeal.
It’s just the people that make you shake you’re head, or see the white circles pulsating in your periphery out of unchecked aggression.