Get 'em started young

I went out to dinner with JP, my father, and my father’s wife this past Friday. It was sweltering that night, so the streets were filled with people out on the town.

Walking home from the restaurant I got a phone call from JP’s mother, asking to talk to him before he went to bed. This is a regular occurrence for both of us, as we both feel that it’s important that even if JP doesn’t see us every day, he should at least have an opportunity to hear his parents’ voices. Anyway, I passed JP my cellphone, which he took with the air of an old professional—a cross between a young man and a real estate agent who does all his business by phone.

As he was talking a man passed us coming from the other direction. Now, file this under consider the source—the man was muscle-bound, shirtless, and walking with a low-rider bicycle—but this guy gets on look at JP conducting a million-dollar cellphone transaction, and his jaw dropped.

Oh, no, he said. He is not! He elbowed his equally shirtless, muscular companion. Will you look at that, honey? That is just plain wrong.

JP, for his part, ignored the whole thing—the world, as it does with most 3-year-olds, already revolves around him. Another streetside commentator is nothing new. I was caught somewhere between wanting to explain, laughing my ass off, and getting into an altercation (with my shirt on, thank you).

This led to one of those tireless conversations parents get to have with other people these days: Should kids have cellphones? Is it obnoxious? Is it safe? Is it a sign of the decline of Western Civilization as seen through the advent of full-blown consumerism foisted onto the young by vapid parents who need to justify their place in the world by buying things? Is it cute? Is it sensible?

Meh.

New York—where hell is other people, and so are you.