This reminds me totally of Hawaii
We landed in San Juan, Puerto Rico and were ready for our tour. We had left K on the ship while we were going to head out to do some ATV riding through the rainforest and protected natural habitat. I was really looking forward to it until I got on the bus and had the “pleasure” of sitting next to a 50something couple who proceeded to have a dialogue, out (very) loud about the “similarities” between Puerto Rico and Hawaii.
While I get it, both are tropical and both are an island—but um, really? Neither of these people could remember if Hawaii was a state or a territory. They were so surprised that they didn’t need their passport or go through some sort of immigration process when getting off the ship.
This is the trail of the conversation that put me over the edge. “This totally reminds me of Hawaii. Well, minus the signs not being in English, and why is that, I mean, c’mon. And they all have some pretty heavy accents. And well, it’s really hot, just like Hawaii, don’t ya think?” I had to tune it out at that point. No, really, I had to.
Your Family Looks A Lot like ours
There were several transracial families on the ship. clearly, when there are white parents, white siblings and/or brown siblings—I like to ask. I never assume, but I like to ask. K and a little brown boy (about 2 years old) were playing in one of the pools and his mom came over to ask home something. I mentioned, “Your family looks a lot like ours does.” She smiled and asked where K was born. Once I told her, she said something to the effect of, “we may look like your family, but our son was born domestically.” She grabbed her sons hand and didn’t let him play with K for the remainder of the cruise.
That bummed me out.
Glass Bottom Boat
Trying to explain to K about what a school of fish was—yeah, mommy, I see the school and that big fish right there—that’s the teacher.
Walking back from dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe, K and I saw the home where Lincoln died. I used it as a teaching moment to talk about how all brown people were originally born in Africa, but that mean people brought them here and treated them mean and…well you know where this conversation is going…
Homeless Man: Hey lil man! Your ole lady teachin’ you about slavery?
K: My name is K. Nice to meet you (shakes hand).
HM: (looking at me) He from Ethiopia?
Me: Yes. He was born there!
HM: I can tell. Them Ethiopians got THAT look.
K: I don’t have a Daddy!
HM: (Looking at me) Well that is a shame! How about we make a deal!?
Me: Thanks, but um…
K: Hey Mommy, he’s brown like me!
HM: Yeeaaahhhhh Mami! I’m brown like him. I can tell you down with the brown guuuurrrrlllll!
Me: (Shaking my head) Have a good night!
So, this week, K and I are on our way to DC for an orphanage reunion, and I promise to talk about that later. This, oh Lordy, this post will be about the horrible bratty bothers who sat across the aisle from us on the flight over. Actually, I am typing this while trying NOT to give them the evil eye or discipline them. My mantra so far has been, “not my kid! Not my kid!”
When we got on the plane, I was glad to see that there were kids across, in front and behind us. As a parent who has flown, you know how tough it can be when your kid wants to talk the whole time or kick the seat in front of you or…whatever. It’s nice to have people around you who feel your pain.
Well, not 20 minutes into our flight, the brat brothers started going at it. Their parents are sitting on the aisle—one seat in front of them and one seat behind them. They both have iPads and clearly want what the other one has. When “Mom” asked them to keep it down, older brat brother slapped her hand away and proclaimed, “Shut up! You’re bothering me!” Um! Really? She just weakly/clearly defeated smiled at me and turned around. Their dad just laughed. When I looked at him with an “um, you gonna tell them not to speak to their Mom that way” look, he chuckled and put his headphones back on.
They haven’t stopped arguing and slapping each others hands away from their iPads. Just 5 minutes ago, their dad asked them to keep it down and younger brat just simply said, “shut it!”.
Now, granted, I KNOW my son is far from perfect. I know he can be sassy and has his moments of not always using his manners, but I double dog dare him to tell me to shut it MORE than once. All it takes is one time and things will be handled. Um, forget him talking to me that way—if he has the audacity to think that it’s ok to talk to me that way, then he sure will think it’s ok to talk to other adults that way and that is NOT ok.
So, since our flight started 2.5 hours ago, they have told their parents to shut up at least 3 times and smacked their mom at least the same number of times. Neither of their parents have even slightly reprimanded them. Well, i take that back—their father threatened to take away bigger brats iPad if he didn’t keep it down and bigger stated, “yeah right!” sarcastically and kept right on playing his game. So clearly, this is how these kids act on a regular.
Somewhere over Kansas, both brothers ordered their dad to get them cup-o-noodles and he did. No thank yous were expressed. One complained that his wasn’t hot enough but kept right on eating it.
It truly was at this point, that I expected people for punk’d to show up and reveal that we had all been part of a plane experiment. Let me also add that I am not the only adult in our vicinity who is HORRIFIED.
We have less than two more hours left and all I can say is, “Not my kids! Not my kids!” over and over and over again.