Musings of a Middle Aged Bear

Kids these days. They aren’t afraid of anything, and it’s the worst thing that ever happened to them. Children need a little fear in their lives. It makes them careful. It makes them respectful. It keeps them in line. The way things are going now, they just run any which way and do any old thing they want. Now it’s up to us olduns to be afraid. Afraid of what the little brats are going to do next.

Take that little blond snippet.   You know, the one whose parents dress her in adorable blue and white pinafores and then let her roam the forest unsupervised.  Nice.  You know, there was a time when people would have thought to keep a child like that out of the woods.  It’s not like everyone doesn’t know there are bears living out here.  Just because we have better things to eat for breakfast than small children doesn’t mean that we don’t still deserve respect.

In any case, this child is the worst of the bunch.  She doesn’t just think the whole forest belongs to her, she’s apparently never been taught the words “private property.”  Just the other day she pried open the door of my son’s house when no one was home and waltzed inside just as calm as you please.  I’d like to know who taught a child that kind of trick.  That’ s what I’d like to know.

That’s not even the worst of it, though.  This little girl breaks into a bear house, sees pictures of bears everywhere, and is she afraid?  Does she tremble and run away before the bears come home?  No, not at all.  Instead she decides to steal their food, break up their furniture, and just to show that she thinks nothing can touch her, she falls asleep in my grandson’s bed!  His bed.  Where he hibernates.  If he even can now after seeing a sight like that.

Oh yes, he saw it.  The little brat was still there, fast asleep, when my son and his family came home, bringing me along for my week long visit.  They saw the missing food and the broken furniture right away and knew something was wrong.  I told my son he should have gone for help right away, but he’s always had a stubborn independent streak.  Up the stairs he went to check things out himself, and that’s when we found her.   My son let out a great roar, more surprise than anger, you understand, and she woke right up.  There we were, four bears standing over, mouths open with shock, and she doesn’t scream, doesn’t cry, doesn’t so much as blush.  She just sits up, yawns real slow-like and says, “It’s a good thing you had this bed.  That one is much to hard and that one is much too soft.”  !!!!!! Who does this little cub thinks she is?  Too hard?  Too hard? I’ll have you know that my husband made that bed with his own paws 40 years ago and first he and then my son have been happily sleeping on it ever since.  As for my daughter-in-law’s bed, I will admit that it is ridiculously soft.  (Really, what does one bear need with so many pillows?)  But nontheless, it is her bed in her house.   It’s not for some little wisp of a girl to come along and criticize.  Too soft for you, is it?  Then maybe you should find a bed that’s in your own house.

I was just about to open my mouth and say all these things when my son began to laugh.  Laugh!  What he could possibly have found funny I’ll never know.  All I know is that they took that self-entitled, ungrateful little waif down the stairs, fed her even more food, and sent her on her way with a smile.  I let my son know in no uncertain terms that he was making a fool of himself, but he just laughed again and made some more porridge.  He’s always been a little soft, just like his father.   But it’s not my place to meddle.  As I told my daughter-in-law several times that week, I’d never allowed such a child to get away with behavior like that in my house, but they can do what they like in their house.  It’s not my place to tell them what to do.

Kids these days…