I remember those days so well.
brother!
Those were the days of perfection and purity.
We lived in Gush Dan at the time, and we used to spend hours at an excellent kosher cafe in the center of Tel Aviv.
"Ginzburg" they called it, after Asher Ginzberg, he is one of the people - who gave his name to the street where the cafe was next to.
Anyone who is reading these things now, and was one of the residents or visitors of the place, remembers exactly every dish and every corner, and is probably suffocating a longing sigh of nostalgia.
If he, or she, has a really good memory, they also remember the time when we would come to coffee with a red baby carriage with a sweet little girl in it.
And if they are really fond of historical memories - they will be able to recall that pleasant afternoon when the girl, who had already grown a little and was already sitting in a children's chair, skillfully took oily and shiny kalamata olives from the small saucer that stood on the table and to her delight directed them towards the distinguished man who was sitting at one of the nearby tables and was perusing the newspaper.
One of them hit right inside his eye.
Olive in the eye.
Since then we stopped bringing the girl to the cafe, and in fact we also gradually stopped coming to the cafe together.
Instead I found myself spending more and more time in another part of the big city, where there was a handsome gymboree that provided the girl with a real paradise.
It is clear to me that she would have preferred the game with the olives and the old man with the newspaper, but somehow she adapted to the change.
We too.
The image of the respected and well-known elderly man (sorry again, Mr. JS) wiping his injured and stained eye managed to awaken in us the recognition that another member has entered the family, and that, contrary to the free flowing thought that nothing has actually changed - a great deal has changed.
The father is already a grandfather to the grandchildren, and this girl is already 17 and a half years old, who will be healthy, so today the situation is already reversed.
In my opinion, she's the one who freaks out when we accompany her to a cafe, but let's leave it at that.
That old story doesn't sit well with me, and I'm usually reminded of it in situations where I'm in the senior role with the newspaper.
More precisely, the artist with the microphone.
What would you do if you were on stage at a stand-up performance, and from the last row came the sound of a toddler crying?
I know what I'm doing: I want to die.
I mean, at the first moment I want to die, then it changes to wanting to kill, then I despair and give up and go back to wanting to die.
And then it continued.
and continued
And the annoying and distracting crying sound is joined by another strangled voice: a shaking voice and an attempt to calm down.
"Hoving away from the shed nanny nnanana from Mmmmmmmyy what you have from you what is the poor who is the poor man of Amaa Maay.
And in front of this burst of love, a person stands on stage and thinks bad things.
not good.
Bad and cruel things even, which are not nice to think about people, least of all about little babies who have not tasted the taste of sin.
And sometimes I try to hint gently, I stop my flow for a moment and say: "I think it's teeth. He's teething."
And everyone laughs, and the parents also laugh heartily, saying: "Brother, this cub is so funny. What are his teeth, how are his teeth? He's barely five months old, this sweet Ido, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm prince! I'm eating you. Now I'm eating you !"
laughs
And me?
I feel like crying.
This baby, this sweet baby (how sweet. Red from crying, all convulsing, with a crushed balloon in his left nostril) - what the hell is he doing here?
Is he into stand-up?
Does he work in this company?
Did he buy a ticket?
A baby should not enjoy stand-up.
More than that: if he keeps quiet throughout the performance - please take him for a diagnosis.
It's not right.
Babies, it has to be said honestly, are just like cell phones, only without the option to silence the ringer.
Despite this, there is almost no person who would allow himself to bring a loud phone to the concert, but there are many parents who are in the stage "nothing has changed in terms of the routine of life. The pregnant belly has simply been replaced by a coil".
Bring a baby to the concert, and most of the people around them will try to forgive them.
There is not a single person in the world who would play matchsticks with one another in the heart of a cafe, but there are countless young parents who will bring their small children to a cafe, even though a Kalamata olive hurts the eye just like a rubber ball of matchsticks, and the pointy side is even more so.
separation.
separation.
Separate spaces: spaces for adults and spaces for infants.
How would you react if you saw a grown man struggling his way out of a pool of balls at gymboree?
Very true - call the police.
Same thing the other way around, okay?
Baby - instead of babies.
Bigir - instead of adults.
All this mixing does no good to any party, and its cancellation must be enforced.
And we haven't talked yet about the freedom that parents take upon themselves to enter a crowded store with an enormous stroller, as if only Hinoka takes up space and the stroller around him is not taken into account.
What closed, what?
What is up?
And it is forbidden to wake up.
Do not wake up.
Because it's not nice and unacceptable, and it makes you look like a grumpy Swiss old man who hates children, while I'm the exact opposite.
loves children
On two conditions: that they are mine, and in their natural place.
were we wrong
We will fix it!
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