Mother Dearest

Monday. It didn't matter that I had managed to get away earlier than usual from work and felt mildly liberated because of it, it still felt like a long day. Switching from one train to the next, I squeezed myself between the luggage shelves near the door rather than walk further into the carriage to grab a seat. I sat, swinging my legs, and resting my head, counting down the minutes till I would be walking home.

Beside me, a mother stood, leaning down on the buggy holding her son, about one. In tow was son two, about three. Assuming the worst, as I always do, when it comes to public transportation families during rush hour, I closed my eyes and willed myself away from the situation. I suppose the shiny puff bomber jacket with the accompanying gold hoops and tight pony tail were more the reason for the need to escape, but the kids still didn't seem promising.

However, I was proved quite wrong. The three year old, being a three year old, felt the need to explore and play. When permitted he explored the bits of paper left on the floor and excitidely showed his finds to his younger brother. Perhaps the cutest part of these adventures were his ruffled blonde hair and big smile, complimented by his argyle print sweater over his button up top - sooooo adorable. However, while he was having fun and not in any way annoying any of the disgruntled, child hating commuters, his mother was having none of it. Instead, she would hiss, 'SSSit down'....then smile politely to the rest of us, as if showing us her parenting skills.

As the train pulled away from the station, the three-year old turned his attention to the passing scenery. Soon the modern flats gave way to the rows upon rows of brick rowhouses, and the boy excitedly perked up....

'Mommy Mommy, are we going to go see Daddy? Are we going to where Daddy lives? Is that where Daddy lives? Does he live there? Where's Daddy? Do we get to see Daddy?'

To which Mommy replies, 'Shut up. Sit down. We aren't going to go see Daddy'.

The excitement fading, the little boy, turns from the window and, innocence boy wonder voice immediately replaced with impersonating Mommy voice of,

'No. We don't get to go see fucking Daddy. Fucking Daddy isn't around. It's because we're bastards. No seeing fucking Daddy today, not for little bastards.'

...true story....i kid you not.

I suppose the saddest part of this tale is that these cute little boys will, in ten years time, be terrorizing the streets and wearing their ASBOs with pride....