No! Never!

I’m no ardent supporter of corporal punishment, but here was a child for whom sparing the rod had clearly spoiled the child.

Let me explain.

I had checked into the hotel with my family on a vacation that was to be our last for a while at a local, albeit world famous theme park. We had through the generosity of a friend who worked for the organization been able to secure a significant discount and thus splurge on what was known as “concierge level” for our accommodation. This allowed us a large room on an upper level floor, and access to the famous concierge lounge which included unlimited all day snacks, soft liquor, and a world class view of peons below us. As I walked into the area, I felt like a king or foreign dignitary, and not in the least like someone who arrived in an aging Suzuki XL7.

In this room I was famous. Or I could have been. The staff treated me as though I were, and relishing the moment I graciously let the host pour me a drink, I took my place on a nicely appointed chair near the window.

This bliss last approximately seven minutes.

I know it was more than five, but less than ten, because well I can always tell such things. In any event, after 7 minutes of proximal bliss in walked a family with a small child. I am not sure why anyone with a small child would add the concierge level to their hotel booking, because the bulk of the experience is completely lost on them. It is an experience designed for adults whose weary feet receive a welcome respite from the lines and the crowds of an overly busy world of stimulation and activity.

This child was his own miniature version of what was taking place outside. A place over which I had until recently presided unaffected and aloof. This child ran to and fro and could not through either the cajoling of his parents or the nuanced looks of the hotel staff be persuaded to desist in his disruption of this tranquil retreat. I had expected he would eventually tire or perhaps demonstrate at least an inkling of respect for what his parents clearly had written on their faces.

But he did not.

When asked to by his father to return to where he was sitting he was met with the defiant response of a rebel unwilling to surrender his cause, “No! Never!” And off again he went.

Now I am a generally patient man, and I will at times even console my wife over the disruptive actions of others by counseling her to let it go. This however was a situation in which I was the one who needed the counseling, and it was thus by that intuitive knowledge that the gentler sex possesses, that I received the light touch of my wife’s hand on mine, as she looked into my eyes, and shook her head, “No.”

I slumped back into my chair temporarily deflated, but the lad’s antics soon repressurized the angst within me, and I began to formulate a plan. Perhaps if he could be convinced, albeit covertly to do something truly and remarkably bad, his parents would be forced into noticeable action beyond weary and ineffective pleas to stop.

Building the outline in my mind, I realized that the outer patio unlike the rest of the lounge on the uttermost floor of the hotel, opened to the sky. Around the perimeter of that room was an artificial-but not uncomely array of vines attached to a trellis which rose all the way to the beginning of the open space. I looked at the lad and had a moment doubt. This however was quickly erased as he expertly threw a chocolate chip cookie that bounced off my leg and landed on my shoe.

In a few minutes the child’s range of operation intersected my own, and he was close enough that I was able to whisper covertly in his ear as I pointed to the outer room, “I bet you can’t climb that trellis.” With a determined smirk, the boy pulled away from me and headed for the exterior courtyard as quickly as his defiant little legs would carry him.

My wife caught my eye and looked worriedly toward the lad. I merely shrugged as if unaware of any further goings on and pretended to read a rather boring article on the state of the economy. My eyes however were inexorably drawn to the left as I watched the lad make his grand climbing debut. I have to admit the boy was quite agile and would have given Alex Honnold a run for his money. He climbed that trellis faster than I would have thought possible, and it was only just in time that I was able to get the attention of his parents who seeming to be enjoying the moment of reprieve, and had forgotten all about him.

“Uh sir.“ I said pointing toward the outer area, “You might want to check on your son.”

The lad had reached the top now, and was vying for a grip which would take him over the top, and then to likely what would next be his eternal destination. Now lest you think poorly of me, it must be noted that I was in the process of positioning myself for action, but the father had already bolted to the patio and was far ahead of any assistance I could render.

He reached the courtyard, bounded onto a chair, and grabbed the heel of the nipper just as he was about to go over. A collective gasp was heard from the stunned onlookers, and I remarked to my self, that I played this one rather close.

Still the outcome quelled any misgivings, as the father yanked the boy from his Everest like perch and drew him back down to the safety of the inner sanctum. Quickly grabbing a discarded newspaper, he proceeded to paddle the child’s hind end with a vehemence his previous protestations clearly lacked.

The mother cognizant of the danger her child had been in, yet conflicted over the beating of her child bit her lip in quiet inner dismay. The lad shouted and screamed like he had been bitten by a swarm of bees, but in the end, the father’s final admonition that he “stop” was at last met with obeisance.

Now corporal punishment is of dubious legality in the state where this event took place, but I can assure you there were no objections that day, and had a court of law convened all witnesses to the event would have stood united in the necessity of the father’s action, and perhaps have encouraged its earlier initiation.

Thus, it was a slightly traumatized trio that walked past the crowd of onlookers. The father’s eyes met the assembly daring them to speak while the mother’s avoided all contact, and the little fellow’s darted to and fro between muffled sobs. A collective sigh of relief emanated from those witnessing the event, and I alone was conflicted about the whole thing, having instigated what could have been the poor little fellow’s grisly demise.

In the end, I assuaged my guilty conscience by again whispering a quiet admonition to the boy as he was led past me.

“Don’t give up kid.”

I wasn’t sure if he heard me as he continued his depressing perp walk, but before he was completely out of range he turned back to me and mouthed his defiant manifesto, “No! Never!”