You know, I used to be super not into the idea of children. In a general sense, I mean. I thought that teachers have some kind of superpowers, teaching children day after day, dealing with the trials and tribulations of every age from 4-18.
Make no mistake, kids can be horrible at any age; it’s just a different type of horrible. First they can’t do anything for themselves, then they’re doing everything themselves, mostly things they shouldn’t, and then there’s a very long period of them complaining about having to do things for themselves and not actually doing half the things they should be doing.
I have a couple of married friends, and they just took their daughter for a children’s orthotics fitting. Cheltenham is a bit of a trek for them as well. I can’t imagine driving halfway across the city to get my kid fitted with shoe things so that she can compete in little athletics even though she’s seven years old. I mean, none of this matters and she won’t even remember this act of parental care because turning into a teenager is going to erase all familial goodwill from her mind.
That’s the type of thing that used to baffle me. Parents sacrificing huge amounts for their kids, when they don’t get anything in return.
Now that I have a nephew, though? I’m starting to understand. Look, I’m not going to throw myself under a bus for a baby I don’t know, but I do SORT of understand why a parent would pay for custom orthotics, giving up their entire Saturday morning to find a good podiatrist. Melbourne parents, I officially am starting to understand the general mindset.
And if anyone tried to hurt my nephew in any way, I’d feed them into a wood chipper. For starters.