My World... And Welcome To It--Part II

Again—again—watched in dismay today as yet another parent walked into the branch and made a beeline for the nearest Internet access computer, leaving her preschooler pretty much to her own devices for the next hour. Or more likely two. Here we go, I sighed, and nudged at my coworker, who nodded sagely and shrugged a Gallic what are you gonna do-type shrug before turning back to the pile of library card applications in front of her. I headed for the magazine and newspaper display.

The child was a cute chatterbox in a red corduroy jumper, wide-eyed, tentatively friendly, intensely curious about everything going on around her, and generally pleased to find herself in this interesting, strangely quiet place that was crowded with more books than probably she’d ever seen in her entire young life. She wandered over to one of the paperback carousels, poking and prodding at the lower tiers, attempting to make the thing turn. Then, bored with that, she ambled up to the community information table and stood up on her tiptoes straining to get a better view of the stacks and scatterings of leaflets, flyers and shiny, colorful pamphlets. Frustrated, unable to reach even the papers closest to the table’s edge, she abruptly dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl around under it like a little red mouse, humming softly to herself as she examined the carpet for minute, invisible…somethings. Tiny, Lilliputian somethings only she could see. I couldn't help smiling, watching her.

K-----! Come here, her mother hissed at her. Sit over there. SIT. OVER. THERE. NOW. Now stay there.

Whereupon I calmly rushed over--I know that sounds like a contradiction; it takes practice--hoping to head off disaster. Stupid woman. Was this adorable child, who could not have been more than 4, maybe 5, really expected to sit in a hard flat chair at a large bare table for the next 60 minutes-plus? With absolutely nothing whatsoever to do? What was this stupid woman thinking?

Can I bring her something to read? And maybe some coloring sheets and crayons? I whispered to the mother. I made a point of sounding sympathetic. And I was. For the child.

The mom shrugged; mumbled yeah okay.

I smiled tightly and went looking for kiddie supplies, grabbing a half dozen Sandra Boynton and Eric Carle titles from the “Toddler/New Reader” shelves on my way back. Then I sat the little girl down at one of the reading tables nearest her mother—who did not even bother to look up, nor did I expect her to—and presented her with my offerings, whispering encouragements.

And for a small period of time the little sweetie was content, happily absorbed in her coloring and drawing and “reading.” But the inevitable happened; she lost interest in both the crayons and the cardboard books, became restless, and began to fret, disconcerted at how thoroughly her mom, frowning at the computer screen inches from her face, had zoned out, seeming to forget all about her little girl. She stage-whispered to her mommy to come here and see; Mommy shushed her. She tried to show Mommy one of her coloring pictures and her mother rebuffed her at first, irritably, her gaze never quite leaving the monitor. Finally the mom sighed and pulled Baby Girl into her lap, distractedly bouncing and rocking her to settle her down—but Baby Girl would not be settled. She babbled and prattled incessantly, peppering her mother with questions which her mother ignored almost completely. Ignored, the child’s whining and whimpering increased in volume and intensity until she’d succeeded in twisting herself down and out of her mother’s loosening embrace.

Then, pouting, she marched defiantly back to the carousel where, after some quick, furtive peeps at Mommy (who remained as oblivious as ever), she snatched Richard Wright off the “WR” rack and threw him to the floor. Then she did the same with Courtney Wright, sending Teri Woods sailing right after, and then a misplaced August Wilson, all to the amusement--and here and there the annoyance--of several patrons nearby.

And then, giddy now and balancing precariously forward on her tiny sneakered toes, Baby Girl reached high for Valerie Wilson Wesley and higher still for Alice Walker while Mommy, aroused finally from her long electronic stupor, advanced upon her daughter with murder in her eyes…

It was a long morning. A long, noisy morning.