Posts tagged ‘kindergarten’

The wheels on the bus…

The other day in the bus:

I had just picked up my son from kindergarten, the bus had stopped at a red light and bus stop, the light turned green, we moved on, however, one car in the lane next to us honked at the driver in front of them to get moving, my son turns over in the direction of the honking car and yells for the entire bus to hear: “Stop with Tutu, or I’ll set you on fire!”

What is the correct parental response to this?

A high five?

Asking him where he picked THAT up?

Turning on Rammstein – Benzin?

I don’t know whether to be a proud dad, or to be worried. I don’t even know how to feel about this. There’s a delighted joy, there’s pride, but also worry and a bit of shame. (The people on the bus heard, they laughed, but surely also judged.)

FYI, I went with laughter, imagining a high five, and then asking him where he picked it up. He claimed he taught it to himself, that he’ll take a candle and burn the car…

Take care, A.

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Streets of Vienna

There is a street in my town, called Triester Strasse – Street to Triest (guss where it leads to in the end, realy difficult innit?), which is notorious for its traffic. 

There is always traffic. No time of day without traffic, never could you (if you had a balcony or window to that street) sit there and enjoy the silence, if one day you wake and the street is silent, and stays that way, congratulations, you survived the apocalypse. 

Triester Straße is also notorious for the nightlife there. Brothels, ‘Massage parlours’, Strip clubs – like pearls on a string. 

My wife and I were driving down that road, out of town, doing some errands when we noticed the following on the side of the road:
Brothel, Stripclub, ‘Massage parlour’, intersection, Kindergarden, Brothel.

Read that again.
Slowly.
Perhaps speak the words aloud.

Brothel
Stripclub
‘Massage parlour’
Intersection
Kindergarden (Daycare)
Brothel

There are several things here that disturb me.
1 – next to a street that coughs up enough exhaust and soot to fill cathedrals in minutes, you do not open a daycare.
2 – the prudish ways of the Americans where a titty is worse than guns is not my thing, but brothels next door to daycare centers are a bit too much too early.
3 – at least the ‘masage parlour’ and the brothel immediately next door to the Kindergarten were displaying bright ‘Open’ signs. At half past two PM.

A few questions arise too:
a) – What kind of men go to a brothel at that hour?
b) – Do you want those men near your kids?
c) – Are those the children of the prostitutes, strippers, and ‘massage experts’?
d) – Do these kids have a pole?
e) – Can customers of the surrounding establishments put their kids into the daycare by the hour?
f) – Whose fucking idea was this?
g) – Seriously? SERIOUSLY???

Well, that was enough roadside entertainment for me. Carrying a pax closet upstairs six flights. That shall preoccupy my mind now….

I was playing with chestnuts.

I gathered them, collected them, marvelled at the magnificently beautiful texture…would my mom have let me, I would’ve bathed in them!
We crafted stuff with them and during the fall, Chestnuts were as good as currency!

Of course, as with other childhood habits and valuables, chestnuts lost in value over time, and today I’m just smiling nostalgic, when I find one in the alley, and I have to use my skills from back then, to liberate it from its thorny shell…

And that’s the reason why I’m writing this: I keep finding them! 
There is a fracking daycare in that alley, schools are nearby, many kids live here!

There shouldn’t be a single one left!

What the frak is wrong with kids today? Are there virtual chestnuts? Do they pass a virus I’m unaware of?
No?
Then, what the frak?!

Sure, that pesky little moth is making the leaves of the chestnut trees fall in midsummer, as if it was late fall. Before, there are lumps in the leaves where the larvae grow. Some of the shells look lumpy as well, but still – they’re chestnuts! Grab for them with sticks, pry the shells open and get pricked a hundred times each!
DO IT!
It will be fun…

…my son will see them, marvel at them, cherish them and play with them, long before he gets a computer, a TV or gods forbid, a cellphone!
He should know a stick, before he can differentiate between an Ak47 and a Mac10 – just call it gun. And chestnuts before Euros…