This is an open letter to all you parents out there with young kids. And by young, I mean babies and toddlers. I don’t mean your kid who’s pushing forty, still living in your basement, and resents you for not supporting their dream to one day climb Mount Doom. I feel it is my responsibility to tell you something. It’s not going to be easy to hear but it’s something that has to be said. Something you need to know. Something you may even find upsetting. Please sit down and take a deep breath. Ready? Here it is. Your kids are annoying. Now I know many of you right now are saying, “Oh, I know where you’re coming from but not my kids. They’re so not annoying.” Yes, your kids too. They so are.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not a horrible person. I used to love kids. I loved playing with my cousins when they were babies and toddlers. I would do battle with my other cousins just to see who would get to hold them. One of them even puked on my brand new Eagles shirt the first time I ever held him and I thought that was precious. Sure, I made him reimburse me when he got older and started getting an allowance but still. Hell, I even wanted kids. But no more. No, all my wife and I want now is peace. Peace and quiet. It’s because everywhere we go there is some kid screaming or running around. And the parents watch with a big smile on their faces. As a matter of fact, just yesterday when we were walking back from the corner store, we saw a couple letting their two adorable kids play on the front lawn. It wasn’t their front lawn but their kids were playing on it nonetheless. They were just walking by and their darling little monsters wanted to play on someone’s front lawn. Now you have to see this house to truly understand this atrocity. It is a meticulously kept house with a beautiful front lawn full of flowers and trimmed bushes. An elevated house where you have to make the effort to pick your kid up to put them on the front lawn. It wasn’t even my house and it made me angry. Because you know if you followed them home and played on their front lawn, or just took their car for a quick spin because you thought it looked cool, they’d probably be pissed.

Then there’s the cute thing of almost running over people with your baby stroller. Better yet, even cuter is letting your precious little doll push the stroller around while he or she almost takes a toe off some poor old lady who’s just trying to make it to Macy’s unscathed to buy her Jean Nate. Add to that screaming tots in restaurants and my all-time favorite: church. Yes, church. No need to take your screaming banshee or little chatty Cathy outside while other people are trying to have their souls saved. Nope, let ‘em scream and yap. I know what you’re saying, “Jesus loves the little children.” I went to Catholic school all of my life and I'm quite familiar with the Bible passage that says no one can enter the kingdom of Heaven if they do not have the heart of a child. But notice it says the heart of a child. It doesn't say screaming mouth. I saw a book in the humor section recently that was about this very subject. Unfortunately, I can’t remember what the title of it is or who wrote it but there is a quote from the back cover I will never forget: “Yes, Jesus did love the little children but did you notice He never ate with them? He ate with the lepers.” Ah, that says it all, doesn’t it?

Of course, the one reassuring thing is you can always escape this madness by going home to your humble abode, right? Think again. My wife and I live in an apartment complex. Well, it’s not really a complex. It reminds me of the old hotels down by the Jersey shore. It has a tiny little walkway with enough room for two people to barely walk side by side and a row of apartments on the first and second floors with a little porch in front. Outside is a sign saying the complex is quiet. I remember the days when that sign told the truth but now it is a big fat liar. I know quiet, and you, apartment complex, are not quiet. Not anymore. Quiet has gone the way of the dodo and Paula Abdul’s sanity in our apartment complex (our neighborhood too, for that matter). On the opposite end of our apartment is a kid around 7 who used to make a lot of noise but isn’t that bad now unless he is playing with the other two kids in the complex. And those two kids live—yep, you guessed it—right next door to my wife and me. The little girl is around 6, the little boy 3. To their parents, they’re probably angels. To my wife and me, they’re the best form of birth control ever created.

They live in a tiny, one bedroom apartment. That is not a typo. I did say one bedroom. I know it’s tiny because my wife and I used to live in it when we first moved out here. As we got jobs, and income to buy things, it became too small for us. Two adults. So we moved into the two bedroom next door when it became available. Now our former apartment houses a mom, a dad, and two kids. The parents are really nice people so we feel bad getting mad at them. The problem is the dad is at work all day and all night. Literally. I have no idea what he does. Maybe he works for the CIA. Maybe he just leaves to escape the madness. Whatever the case, I wish he would take us with him. Anyway, the wife stays home all day and takes care of the kids. This is a lovely, sweet woman who doesn’t speak above a whisper and can’t control her two bundles of joy. We always know when Dad is home because, except when they're asleep, that’s the only time it’s quiet. For some reason I can’t fathom, perhaps you parents out there can explain it to me, the little girl loves to scream. The moment she gets home from school, she screams as soon she walks through the door. No words, no chants, no speaking in tongues. Just screams. As a matter of fact, I can tell time by it. I’ll be sitting here at my dining room table writing or surfing the net and I’ll hear screaming. I’ll say to myself, “It must be 3:25,” look up, and sure enough it is.

When she and her little brother play, our entire apartment shakes. We’ve had earthquakes that we’ve never felt but we always know when the kids next door are playing. We hear banging, yelling, and screaming. We can even hear and feel it in the bedroom and our bedroom is on the other side of the apartment, not on the side where we share a wall. Nope, the extra bedroom where we do share a wall would be where my wife’s office is located. She’s been working from home for the last year or so and hearing it all day. Now that I’m unemployed, her pain is my pain too. I took a nap on the couch once with the stereo on and could still hear the little girl next door screaming. That kid has the pipes of an opera singer in the making. The kids also aren’t too bright. On a daily basis, we hear a huge, crashing THUD followed instantly by piercing cries. I feel bad when I hear them cry but I must admit there is a sadistic part of me that enjoys those wails of pain. Okay, I'll come clean. All of me enjoys it. The amazing thing is they never learn their lesson. Over and over. Day after day. Jump. Thud. Cry. Kids, listen: You jump off furniture, you fall down, you get hurt. It’s not rocket science. You can quote every line from every single Spongebob cartoon ever made but this your sponge of a brain can’t soak up? It’s a life lesson. Learn it. For both our sakes. You get fewer bruises. We get quiet. Everybody wins.  

But it gets better. You live in a tiny, one-bedroom apartment with two kids so what’s the sensible thing to do? That’s right. Invite more kids over to play. I love listening to our collectible glasses shake and clang in the armoire as they run around. Or better yet, let them play outside on the 2x4 walkway where’s there’s barely enough room to walk. Bikes, tricycles, and toys oh my! That’s fun, isn’t it? I'm ranting about this today cause summer is almost here and I had a reminder for the last few hours (although at this moment it is shockingly quiet) that they’ll be outside screaming all of the time now. I know you all think I sound like a jerk and I don’t blame you. I used to think people like me sounded like jerks too until I realized that’s because I didn’t have to live with it day after day, hour after hour, minute after frigging minute. My wife and I understand that we live in an apartment and we all have to be considerate of our neighbors but no one else in our complex seems to comprehend this. We also understand that kids play and scream. That’s why I let it go for an hour or two. But by the sixth or seventh hour, you just can’t take it anymore. Hell, even the mom can’t take it anymore. I’ve seen her with a look on her face that made me shocked I actually saw her husband alive again afterwards. If the man’s remains are discovered in a landfill one day, I’ll gladly testify on her behalf that it was a justifiable homicide.

Another thing you need to understand is we live in Burbank where it’s practically sunny and warm every freaking day. There are also playgrounds in any direction you travel. I’m not talking miles here, I’m talking blocks. Why can’t this woman take the kids to one of Burbank’s fine playgrounds and tire them out? Does she think we enjoy hearing the screaming and yelling all day? Just because you decide to sacrifice and have two kids in a one-bedroom, does that mean we all have to suffer? I didn’t sign up for this, lady.

What really gets me is the fact that parents think the world is their kids’ playground. It doesn’t matter if the neighbors want some quiet, or if the old lady doesn’t want her toes mashed, or hell, even if it isn’t your lawn. Let the little bastards do whatever they want. And this, I’ll have all of you know, is coming from someone who is an only child. But I was never half the brat as all the kids I encounter today. My parents’ disciplined me and set up rules. So did the parents of my friends. Not the parents of today. There are no rules. We don’t correct or yell at our kids. We just say in a quiet voice, “Honey, don’t do that.” Even though the kid is still doing it the tenth time they say it, it never occurs to them that, hey, maybe I need a different tactic. Uh, yes. You need to YELL. Use the word “no.” It’s okay. It’s not called stifling their growth or individuality. It’s called discipline. Try it sometime. You’ll be amazed at the results. Let your kid get used to hearing the word “no” now because they’re going to hear it a lot when they get out in the real world. If they’re not used to it now, they won't be able to deal with it later and they’ll only end up shooting up their school or the local mall. You don’t want that to happen, do you? Sure, you'll blame it on the video games and Marilyn Manson but still, what will the neighbors think? Your pride and joy won't get invited to that "it" party at Chuck E. Cheese if word gets around the jungle gym that they pack an AK.   

Okay, parents, we’re almost done. Just one more thing to reveal to you. Brace yourselves. It’s going to shock you. All those cute, adorable things your kids do and you make them demonstrate to your friends and that poor bastard who's waiting in line behind you at the food court? This includes the “How old are you?” bit as well as letting them leave the message on the answering machine. Annoying. Hate to break it to you but it’s true. You’re the only ones who find it cute. Everyone else thinks it’s annoying. They may say otherwise but what they’re really thinking is, “This is so annoying.” Sometimes they're also thinking: “That kid is definitely going to be gay when he grows up.”  

First, the answering machine. We just want to hear the beep and leave a message. We have things to do. We have a life. We don’t have time to wait twenty-minutes to hear, “Say hello, honey. Say hello. Say leave a message. Say please leave a message.” And the how old are you thing? Oh, sure, we smile the first time little Will holds up one finger but by the sixth time, that’s not a smile you’re seeing. We’re gritting our teeth and desperately searching for an escape route. The whole time wondering why there is never a cyanide capsule hidden in your mouth when you really need one. See, you may think it’s cute now but even a kid dropped on his head a few times can hold up one stinking finger. What happens when they turn two and can’t hold up two fingers? Everyone looks at them like they’re a loser. Peaked at one. It’s all downhill from there, kid. You set them up to fail. Finally, we come back to the screaming and the yelling. I’m sure when they’re your kids it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. Like a choir of angels who have descended from Heaven on a cloud of Elmo toys. To the rest of us it’s NOISE.  Loud, frigging, I-can’t-concentrate-get-my-work-done-watch-The Office-in-peace-I’m-this-close-to-snapping-and-hurting-you-noise. You wanna play kid? How about a game of shut the hell up?

So please, I beg you. Take your kids to the playground. Keep the strollers in your lane. Use the word “no” every once in a while. Hell, use it a lot. Make them read a book. Put on the damn TV if it’ll keep them quiet. Just please stop the madness.

And remember, if all else fails, there’s always duct tape.