August is Practically the Next Pollock, Anyway.

I recently had an experience that both baffled and infuriated me.

Last Friday was International Museum Day, and the Joslyn Art Museum was offering free admission in honor of the holiday. I've always been keen to check the museum out and decided, hey, no better reason to finally go than having to pay nothing to get in, right? I loaded August into the car and away we went.

Naturally, the museum was busy that day, but it just added to the air of culture permeating from the building. I was glad to be among the ranks of people who can find entertainment outside of the movie theater or shopping mall. I could almost taste the refined culture blowing on the breeze.

Strapped in his stroller, August was being a good little guy. He occasionally 'spoke' to a passerby or garbled some unintelligible toddler speak to the subjects in the larger paintings, but, really, he was causing no problems. I appreciated his jovial attitude greatly, considering there was basically nothing at the art museum to captivate him. We rolled from room to room, taking in the sights. I was especially drawn to a sculpture by Degas (La Petite Danseuse de Quatorze Ans, if you're interested. I've always loved the ballet, and I've always loved sculptures. When the two meet? BAM. Delightful goodness. Moving on.) and was studying it when August began to babble a bit loudly. I admit his volume was above that of a normal conversational level; after all, he's only one. What do you expect? However, he wasn't shrieking at a decibel that would frighten dogs, nor was he even loud enough to bother 99% of our fellow museum guests, who smiled kindly at him and gave me a conspiratorial chuckle, as if to say, 'Kids! Gotta love 'em!' One, erm, lady did not interpret a toddler's actions in the same manner as her peers, though. She angrily brushed past and let out a gem I never saw coming:


'GEEZ, don't bring your freaking kid to the museum, selfish bitch.'


A few emotions passed through my brain at the time. One caused my fists to clench tightly around the stroller handles, almost as if I would effortlessly swing the toddler-containing contraption through the air, shattering glass and splintering frames before ultimately smashing the woman in the face. Another stripped me of all power of intelligence and left me with a feeling of knowing nothing, like that episode of 'Spongebob Squarepants' where Spongebob's MindBob's throw out all of his mental files... Only I didn't know fine dining and breathing. I knew NOTHING. A final emotion reminded me of what my tattoo humbles me with every day: 'Child of God'. Yeah, pretty sure it's not in the best interest of 'love thy neighbor' to resort to a verbal altercation in the middle of an impressive display of paint and metals. With that last emotion blazing in my mind, I said nothing and left the room.


I said nothing then, and if I saw that woman now, I'd likely be silent still, but the issue remains: How are the children of August's generation supposed to grow to be well-rounded, educated individuals if they are barred from experiencing any sort of culture on the grounds they may cause a minor, nearly unnoticeable distraction to even one person? I want August to visit many museums, educational centers, and the like. I want him to be well-informed of this world's history and achievements in the arts, science, mechanics, et cetera, and I want him to visit them before society tells him the only way to have fun is to sit in front of a PlayStation for hours a day or to be out rioting in the streets, shooting heroin and ferreting hookers to hotel rooms. Yes, that's a stretch, I know, but it seems so much more possible these days to be an empty shell of a human that can't tell you whether the capital of Panama is Panama City or Santiago de Veraguas than to be an enriched, intelligent young person that can discuss the merits of Delacroix and Monet. I want August to be the latter, or at least have the option of being the latter. Those who take offense to every move a child makes or a sound they utter essentially kill our children's chances of phrenic success.


I take a stand against the limitations the public may put on my son. I will continue to bring him to institutions that may be considered 'out of his league', as well as the local children's museum. August already knows there is a bigger world beyond our home and yard and he rejoices in it. He finds interest every place we go, whether that be the supermarket or the home of Greek pottery and Egyptian canopic jars. Unless his behavior crosses an acceptable line, he will be privy to these places, whether others like it or not. Their poor opinions will not now, nor, I pray, will they ever, define who August is.

And, c'mon... It's not like he was tearing apart the paintings of Titian and Pollock and stuffing the shredded remains into his mouth while looking at those around him with a diabolical, maniacal gleam in his eyes. It's not as if he was dismantling seventeenth-century furnishings and setting the pieces on fire while dancing around the flames.

Geez, don't act like my freaking kid is destroying the works of centuries, selfish... witch.