A few days ago, while reading my weekly edition of The Economist, I came across a delicious sounding word: “bratophobia”.
I stopped like a pointer dog and wagged my tail to express my delight.
Bratophobia is of course the clever juxtaposition of “brat” (a badly behaved child) and “phobia” (a fear or aversion to something).
The word cannot be found (yet) in a dictionary but it should, and I hope that it soon will.
I wholly empathize with this expression because I am a confirmed “bratophobe”.
This does not mean that I hate kids; au contraire mon frère!
I simply dislike ill-behaved children. My worse nightmare is being stuck anywhere in the immediate vicinity of an out-of-control mini-hooligan.
I don’t blame the little whippersnappers directly. They are the product of their environment.
Indifferent, overindulgent parents are responsible for producing such hellions.
I firmly believe that the brats of today are the bullies of tomorrow.
They are like pit bull pups. If not carefully monitored and controlled, they can become aggressively unpleasant, even dangerous.
Children above all need socialization, a process by which they learn how to behave responsibly in a polite society. And this process is the parents’ responsibility.
Without boundaries the kids are very likely to end up on the wrong side of the law.
Bratophobia is spreading, and some institutions are scrambling to cash in.
Restaurants, pubs, and various businesses are jumping on the bandwagon and establishing small oases of peace known as BFZ’s (brat-free zones) where weary customers can take refuge from the rowdy hordes.
According to the Economist, Malaysian Airlines is already banning kids from their first class sections.
They are only allowed in economy class… the only section that I can afford.
Drat! Crap! Brats!
Alain
*the high-pitched crying noise made by a cat or bird