That's the Ticket!

It seems that the days of raising children to be "seen and not heard" are long gone. When parents take their kids out in public these days, many of the considerate and courteous gestures of yore-- such as removing a screaming infant from a crowded room, requiring older children to use their "indoor voices", or keeping youngsters of all ages within arm's reach and out of harm's way-- are now a rarity. In this uber-PC age where the threat of a parental reprimand being misconstrued by an overly sensitive (and nosy) onlooker as abuse is an unfortunate (albeit unlikely) reality. And in their quest not to come across as being too strict, some parents fail to discipline their children at all, at least not where others can see.

Since the restaurant where I work prides itself on being especially family friendly, we see countless examples of lax parenting each and every day. While the offenses range from the merely annoying to the downright appalling, the restaurant's owners have long warned us not to speak up unless the child's actions or behaviors have crossed that not-so-fine line between impolite to unsafe. Apparently, the only thing more taboo than being a too-strict parent is being the person to call out the irresponsible ones.

In my experience, even the most polite request to keep a child seated puts parents immediately on the offensive; say something reprimanding to the errant kid directly, and the parental reaction is even worse. When I can't immediately locate or identify a parent of the child who dumped an entire basket of suckers on the floor or who is crawling under the tables of some none-too-pleased guests on the other side of the restaurant, my favorite response is to crouch down and say-- as cheerfully yet loudly as possible-- "Hi! Where are your parents?" That's usually enough to make a red-faced mom or dad to get up and retrieve their child. The bartender gets a similar effect by staring down the oblivious parents from across the restaurant, but I can't make myself look as intimidating as he does.

The thing is, unrestrained children cause more than just a mildly annoying disruption in a busy restaurant. The waitstaff wants to keep all of their tables happy, and the kid problem has gotten to the point where many repeat customers will stay away from the restaurant altogether at certain times of day, or they'll cut their visit short when their desire for a second drink or dessert is trumped by their desire to get away from the screaming child at the next table. That hurts our bottom line, and it was somehow determined that it takes roughly 4 children to replace the revenue generated by one adult patron. We don't want to lose those customers; they tend to have larger tabs and are usually better behaved.

And the safety issue should go without saying... yet it remains an issue. The waitstaff has to move quickly, and often with an armload of heavy plates or trays of glasses, which makes it hard (if not impossible) to see what's directly underfoot. Kids that are running unaccompanied through the restaurant are in danger of getting stepped on, and if the collision is hard enough to make the server trip, fall, or drop what they're carrying, the kid is in danger of getting crushed, scalded, cut, or worse. Were that worst-case scenario ever to materialize, what was previously just parental irresponsibility instantly becomes restaurant liability. That's never a good thing.

So what's a people-pleasing business like ours to do? With our "New Year's Resolution" to keep all of our customers "safe and happy", we may have found just the thing... the Golden Ticket! The idea is so simple, yet (so far) so effective that, to quote our esteemed former governor, we've "got this thing... and it's bleeping golden!"

Here's the premise: the families that embody what we feel "family dining" is all about are eligible to receive a Golden Ticket (a la Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) for a percentage off their next meal. We cited actions such as staying seated, not running, and using "indoor voices" as some of the ways families could earn this ticket. The ticket itself is incentive enough for the little ones (I've never heard so many unprompted "pleases" and "thank yous" from the under-12 crowd!), while the discount compels parents to actively enforce these rules and encourage good manners. The kids learn how to behave in a restaurant, the parents save money, the other patrons can dine in relative peace, and we're off the hook for many avoidable catastrophes: in short, everybody wins!

This program is, by far, the best and most effective solution to this problem that I've ever encountered. What do you think? Will the good behavior last? Is there a better model out there? If so, I'd love to hear it... just be sure to tell me about it in your "inside voice"!

The Moth: SCARS

Memory is a funny thing, and early childhood memories in particular. I vividly remember falling out of a moving car at age four, but if my parents and relatives hadn't later recountedto me what they remember most from that fateful day, I wouldn't be able to give you a firsthand account of one of the most monumental events of my pre-school years. Even though the grownups in my life helped flesh out and give shape to my own spotty memories from that time, I can tell my version of the story in a way no one else can because, after all, I'm the one with the (mainly emotional) scars to prove it.

I was in my pajamas and on my way to the gas station with my dad. Mom was home bathing my little sister and making last-minute preparations for our flight to California later that evening. The gas station was just up the road, so Dad let me sit in the front seat of our forest-green two-door Chevy Impala. This was a Very Big Deal. Naturally, I had to check out all of the fun Front Seat Things that I could not access from my little brown booster seat with the reddish-orange harness in back where I was usually confined (which, as it turns out, was for good reason). Fun things like air vents, the glove compartment, and the door handle.

So many moving parts... I let my imagination run wild! I was moving the door handle back and forth, pretending to ring a bell, and I remember thinking that, since it was such a big handle, it was probably for a really big bell. So I grabbed it with both hands and pulled, and the heavy passenger side door swung open, and for the briefest of moments, I was flying.

And then I fell.

I tumbled out of the car onto the gravelly cinders on the shoulder of the frontage road just as my dad had slowed to make a left turn into the gas station. I later learned that he jumped out of the car so fast that he almost forgot to put it in park. I don't remember being scooped up off the side of the road or being presented (bloodied and crying) to my hysterical mother back home, but apparently I was given my second bath of the evening as mom took stock of my wounds. They must have looked pretty superficial, as my parents decided it best to bandage up my knee (so I wouldn't bloody my fresh pair of PJs, as it might alarm the stewardesses) and off we went on the red-eye to California.

The next thing I remember is the smell of bleach and tongue depressors as we entered the hospital in Berkley. My uncle had driven me and my mom there so I could get my knee checked out, because it was stiff from the flight and it was hard for me to walk. I guess the doctors were confused as to how a toddler who fell out a car in Illinois had wound up in a California hospital the next day, so mom tried to explain our unusual predicament. But you know how, sometimes, the more you try to explain something, the worse it winds up sounding? That must have been what happened, because the doctors went from confused to suspicious and started asking more questions, which prompted my uncle to emphatically interject "I'm not the father!" into the conversation every few minutes or so, which likely didn't help.

Eventually, though, the doctors were satisfied with her explanation of my injuries (which turned out not to be serious) and we were allowed to leave. After he finished wrapping my knee in an Ace bandage, the doctor-- in what I'm sure was meant to be an attempt to cheer me up-- offered me a ride out to the car in an actual wheelchair! Instead, I got scared by mention of the wheelchair-- I had seen one on the way in. The man who was sitting in it was glumly eating greyish-green peas from a tray of food that had been set before him. Of course, I took this to mean that eating yucky peas was a prerequisite for riding in a wheelchair, and instead opted to have my uncle (who is not my father) carry me out to the car.

Thankfully, children are reslilient by design. During this tenuous time of learning right from wrong and discovering the consequences of certain actions, maybe it's best that kids are quick to forget. After all, if we remembered every bad choice and stupid mistake we ever made, in full detail, we'd likely all be scarred for life!