“So Hal – now that you’re a dad, when are you going to write an article apologizing for all those mean things you said about stroller-pushin’ mamas?” That’s right, faithful readers, in the interest of journalistic integrity, I went ahead and made a baby just so I could stroll it around town and discover what it is that makes it so darn difficult to act like a civil human being when doing so. And rather than disavow my previous polemics on the matter, I’ve become firmly emboldened in my stance.
Admittedly, I was apprehensive when it came to the act of pushing a stroller, for fear that I’d be recognized and pelted with rocks. Furthermore, in the beginning we were laden with the Snap-and-Go, this colossal cluster$*@% of a mechanism into which you insert the wee one’s car seat, seemingly providing the support necessary for a newborn.
It was big, bulky and burdensome, so I opted for the less arduous option which involved actually strapping the child to my torso in one of those Baby Bjorn carriers. This works swimmingly, though concerns have arisen regarding possible curvature of the spine since being strapped to my Buddha is a bit like being arched backward over a yoga ball.
So we went stroller shopping. As you would expect, I thought long and hard about it, initially considering something effective yet minimalist, like a dog leash and a skateboard.
But then I thought why not go to the other extreme: Why should my boy be in the Mini Cooper when the rest of the roads are clogged with Humvees?
I wanted some big, bad son-of-a-bitch to drive around my big, bad son-of-a… (I’m not gonna finish that line…). Perhaps something made from old airplane parts with a cowcatcher and a siren.
Sharing my disdain for the Bugaboo/Baby Bronco crowd, my own dad even proposed building “the newest weapon in child transportation, The Black Hawk stroller.”
In his best Dr. Evil, he went on to boast, “This baby will do what your mere mortal SUV strollers could never do. Equipped with laser-guided wheels and sidewinder bumpers, havoc will be wrought in epic proportion. A high degree of maneuverability and a pair of determined pilots, none of you will be spared. We will not rest until we can truly say ‘Mission Accomplished.’ Forewarned is forearmed…Gather your defenses and prepare for battle. When the Halleron men and women get going, nothing can stop us… Payback is a bitch.”
Sadly, this weapon of mama destruction never got off the drawing board, though one appealing alternative I looked into was the Jeep Overland. This baby-hemoth comes complete with an iPod jack and speakers, so my boy could tear down the avenue to the soothing sound of Iggy Pop’s “Search & Destroy.”
Look out mamas, ’cause “I’m a street walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm…”
However, with the aches from the Snap-and-Go still tugging at my T7, I understood a need for lightness. And after consulting a panel of experts (the missus’ coven of neo-mom friends and a handful of beleaguered fathers from the bar), the City Mini, with independent front suspension, outstanding maneuverability, and patented Quick-Fold technology, proved to be the ultimate answer. Truth be told, this thing is the $#!+!!!
It’s like pushing around Kate Moss on Rollerblades and she’s holding your baby. It turns on a dime, folds like a briefcase, and anyone who opts for something needlessly bulkier than this is an absolute halfwit.
Of course, now that I’ve been out there strolling around town, I do have a few observations. Primarily, the fact is you can’t take the stroller EVERYWHERE, and there is a need to recognize limitations.
I cannot, for example, drag the contraption into a tight bodega, thereby blocking the store’s main artery while I casually molest the honeydews. If I do have the wheels out and find the need to go shopping, I hit stores with shopping carts that are thus designed to accommodate a carriage such as mine. And if I need to run a specific errand in a smaller spot, I use the bike lock I bought at Flo On Wheels (1222 Washington St., Hoboken) and carry my baby like the big boy I am.
Another thing I do is stop at crosswalks, like they taught me, oh… way back when I was about four years older than my son is now. It’s just that simple. Most of the time drivers are polite enough to wave me on. Ironically the ones least likely to stop, I’ve found, are younger women who are about the same age as some of their stroller-pushing contemporaries who often thrust their children into oncoming traffic.
Finally, when sharing the sidewalk with a fellow pedestrian I keep to the right, I yield to a passerby, and I try not to take up the whole of the thoroughfare. I don’t drift across the sidewalk while talking on my cell phone, I don’t stop in the middle of Washington Street and play peek-a-boo, I don’t bang my way through an outdoor café and sneer at people who are too busy enjoying THEIR meal to get out of MY way.
Basically, I use common courtesy, which is all any of this has ever been about.
So there you have it, and I daresay I’ve gone above and beyond in researching this whole stroller business. So I don’t want to hear from Buffy Yupiscumb claiming I don’t know what it’s like, ’cause now I’m out there, baby strolling alongside you people.
Of course now that I have this kid, I suppose I could probably use him for further material. Look forward to my upcoming piece, “Why is Your Kid Such an @$$#*!& at the Playground?”
This should be fun…
Christopher M. Halleron, freelance writer/bitter bartender, writes a biweekly humor column for The Hudson Current and websites in the New York Metro area. He spends a lot of his time either in front of or behind the bar in Hoboken, New Jersey where his tolerance for liquor grows stronger as his tolerance for society is eroded on a daily basis. Feel free to drop him a line at c_halleron@yahoo.com.