Instant Karma

I know I've said that I didn't want to go shopping for fear of bringing more stuff into our temporary digs, but I've had a good reason to be out there this week: Grammy Attack.

It's also been a good excuse to check out the local shops. I've been making the rounds of the stores and trying, with no luck, to find the fancy paper store. I'm not sure if Fresno has more than the Hallmark Cards. Hallmark used to be the best, but they've lost their market share, in my book.

Anyway, I went into a children's store yesterday, in search of the little unique laignappe. The store was well done; pretty, cute, but very, very loud.

They were playing rock on the stereo, and I don't mean Rock A Bye Baby. More like Rock Me Baby All Night Long. And not because I have colic.

They had lots of cute things, though, so I kept shopping, feeling only slightly icky when the female on the stereo started moaning about how she "adores your touch, every move you make is magic every night" etc., etc.

Now I've adored some babies and the touch of their little hands grabbing your finger is indeed a thrill, but I don't think that's what she meant. And ewwwwww. In the kid's store?

When I was ready to pay, the young woman behind the counter couldn't hear my question over the music and I had to lean in and repeat. I decided it was a perfect moment to mention the music.

"That's a strange song to have on in the children's store", I said with a sweet smile and a laugh in my voice.

"Oh, do you think so?" she said with a look of surprise , her eyes gazing upward as she started listening to the music. When she tuned in and heard the words, she blushed. It must be loud background noise to her all day.

"Well, we sell older kids clothes, up to size 16, and that's what they listen to now."

She went over to a long counter across the back wall to run my card and get the wrappings. The name of the store was spelled out in big, metal letters that hung individually on the wall above her head. They were slightly vibrating in time to the bass.

Just as she stepped back to bend down for more paper, one of the letters vibrated right off the wall and crashed to the floor, a mere fraction from her head.

"Oh my gosh!", we both exclaimed.

"Are you okay?", I asked.

"It didn't hit me", she replied. "I can't believe that fell off of there!"

I do know when to keep my mouth shut, so I did.

But I left the store wondering about what she had said. If that's what kids were listening to now, how did she think they found it, through their fillings?

Here's an idea, kids listen to this because someone is bringing it to them, not the other way around. You're not playing it because they demand it, they're demanding it because you're exposing them to it. Constantly.

They hear it because she was playing it, because some parent gave them money to buy it, or parked them in front of a TV that was selling it. Because every adult in their world made it easy to hear, everywhere they went. All the time.

I'm not by any means a rock and roll hater. In fact, I love it. There's nothing like it to make you feel full of life and energy. As an adult, I even like a suggestive lyric now and then. And I'm not suggesting that the store play some syrupy muzak of "This Old Man."

But if our kids are hearing sexual content, not to mention violence, in each and every place they visit, live and play, no wonder they're bored and jaded and overwhelmed and angry. The adult world is in their face every minute and they can't escape.

They can't escape to the empty lot in the neighborhood, the creek at the end of the block, the tree house in the woods, or even unattended in their own back yards.

Or even in a store that sells tiny booties and little hats.

And by the way, someone who wears a Childrens' Size 16 is not really all that old. Let's give the poor kids a break.