If I hear the song “The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round” one more time, I’m going to throw myself through Wolfgang Puck’s plate-glass window.Is there any place in Hoboken I can go to escape children? Once again, while jogging, I was almost rammed by a stroller. Think about it. You just had the Children’s Festival last month at Pier A Park. All of August’s free movies are given over to kid-friendly films. Shipyard Park has entertainment for kids on Tuesdays. Youth leagues dominate ball fields. They get their own Halloween parade, their own section at the Arts & Music Festival, their own art shows, an entire skateboard park, expanding children’s sections at bookstores, kid road races, kids toy stores, kid boutiques, they even get to cavort at Sinatra Park during sophisticated adult concerts like Skanatra.
Tell me again what function kids serve?
Consider – if you toss them a ball too hard, it hits them in the stomach and they keel right over. They have terrible sense of direction, constantly lose shoes, and many of them are missing teeth. You can’t discuss Aristophanes or Proust with them – subtle wit goes right over their sweaty heads. If you’re at a club and a hot babe walks in and you nudge ’em in the shoulder, they fall right off the barstool. Then you have to pick them up and stop their wailing while some other dude moves in on the chick.
The worst thing is Hoboken getting a rep as kid mecca – meaning more families moving in, possibly hundreds more tiny hairballs racing around with no purpose, torturing me.
I’d like equal time. I want Hoboken to declare Old Crank Day, preferably in warm weather to prevent arthritis flare up. Have us meet at the Hoboken Historical Museum uptown and parade down Washington Street. We’ll wear baggy, rumpled clothes, beard stubble, baseball caps, and vests. We’ll walk as slow as we damn well please, with bullhorns and posters exclaiming stuff like “Too many high carbs, not enough fiber,” “We brake for sidewalk cracks,” “No clowns within city limits,” “Boot all strollers,” “No child named Ashley or Madison can have a pet,” “Wrinkles, character lines, who’s counting?,” and “License all stuffed animals.”
We’ll chant, sing, recite, make disdainful faces, maybe stick out our corroded tongues.
And if anyone heckles us, we’ll reach up, squeeze our neck boils and spray them with cranky old pus.
– Joe Del Priore
Joe Del Priore, a frequent contributor to the Current, lives in North Bergen.
The Current is always looking for essays for Closing Remarks. Send yours (500 to 700 words) to current@hudsonreporter.com.