Who Needs a Babysitter When You’ve Got a Professional Musician?

The image for this post was captured at a recent gig. The names and faces of those present have been omitted to protect the innocent. The names and faces of the guilty who are responsible for this negligence have also been omitted, as has their presence and discipline in this child’s life.

Far be it for me to judge the parenting skills of others, and even further be it for me to run a blog about parenting, but for the life of me, I’ll never understand this scenario.

I don’t have a child of my own, but I’d like to imagine that as much as this bothers me as an onlooker, and the fact that I have at least enough intelligence to be able to tie my shoe laces, that I’d never just sit there while my child ripped apart everything made out of paper within arm’s reach of her while eating in a public restaurant, and then just watch her throw said torn pieces of paper all about the bar area before leaving the establishment, WITHOUT having cleaned it up.

“They have people for that, you know?”

Thank you, bar patron. Thank you for looking out for the greater good of all humankind tonight when you left that pile of $#!+ laying there on the floor when you left the restaurant. And no, I’m not talking about your child, I’m talking about the other pile of $#!+. The one your child left literally everywhere while you chugged margaritas and reminisced about your youth without so much as an impolite glare in their direction the entire night.

It’s cool, I’ll babysit your little tike(s) so you can just continue enjoying “adult time” on a Saturday night. I totally don’t have anything else to do right now; I mean besides playing this guitar and singing for all the rest of the patrons here.

I’ll be a SUPER good influence on your already terribly behaved child, too. Trust me. Kids love watching me gulp bourbon cocktails all night while singing songs about twerking.

In fact, why don’t we just let them run in circles around my PA and play “let’s jump over the power cables” during my sets. I mean, the worst thing that could happen is they could knock over a 45lb. speaker that would, best case scenario, decapitate them (dead), or worst case scenario, sever their spine (expensive vegetable).

But neither of us are so lucky, therefore, the likeliest worst case scenario would simply be that they’d just end up destroying one of my more expensive pieces of equipment and you’d end up having to buy me another one. And I could tell by the way you left that server $5 on a $125 tab that you’re practically made of money, so you can definitely afford to replace any of my equipment your child might destroy, right?

Babysitters of America, I sincerely apologize for stealing your job. Music is okay and all, but really, I’m in this for the children. Besides, if times get tough for you now that your profession has become obsolete, there’s always a job available at your local eatery picking up after these delightful creatures, and their polite, attentive parents.