Man, I am still fuming about what happened at the playground the other day. There's one broken-down playground around here with two baby swings, two regular swings and one small slide/jungle gym. It goes without saying that everything has graffiti all over it and kids can't play in the grass because of the glass from broken bottles and dog doo (lazy-ass dog owners! Sorry I said "ass" on a baby blog but, I mean, really...). But Dylan doesn't know a nice playground from an ugly one, and he absolutely loves swinging on the baby swings. But, like I said, there are only two baby swings so when we go, we have to wait our turn. Now the baby swings are especially busy as a lot of times "big" kids get on the baby swings when the regular swings are being hogged up by the hoody high school kids who use the regular swings as benches to smoke on.
The other day I was waiting for the baby swings and a father was pushing his little girl who was clearly too big for the baby swings. He was facing me as he pushed and it was apparent we were waiting because I was holding a very enthusiastic Dylan who was kicking and waving his arms in anticipation. Just in case this dad didn't understand, I was saying loudly in Italian "It's our turn next after the bella bambina. When the pretty little girl gets off, we can get on." The dad didn't even pretend not to see me. He just went on pushing, pushing, pushing his kid forever. I kept saying loudly "We are next Dylan. Just as soon as the bella bambina gets off the swing..." because Dylan was getting frustrated - and heavy for me to hold. But rude dad just couldn't have cared less and was apparently immune to my passive aggression.
Finally, he lifted his little girl out of the swing and a mother (an acquaintance of rude dad) swooped in with her little boy from the vicinity of the slide and he jumped into the swing we were waiting for. This mom began pushing her overgrown beast while chewing the fat with rude dad about some school scandal. I was so shocked, I didn't say a word but even if this mother hadn't seen me, the rude dad should have pointed out that I was waiting. It took every ounce of my willpower not to pipe up and say to rude dad "You know that kids learn manners from their parents. Way to go, idiot! You are teaching your daughter a nice lesson there." Knowing myself, I'd probably have opened my big fat mouth if I were in a park somewhere in New York. But I live in a small community where everyone knows everyone else, and where you don't want to get anyone on your bad side. For all I know, this guy's wife runs the local preschool or something. So I didn't say it. In Italian anyway. I had some choice words about him in English, and I shared the G-rated version with Dylan.
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