By Jim Coffman
Within an inning of my 12-year-old son’s and my arrival at our upper deck reserved seats a couple innings into the much-delayed Cubs game Sunday versus the Pirates, the drunk sitting behind me had unleashed a stream of foul language. My son heard some of it, including the identification of someone as a fucking retard, but I’m hopeful he was distracted a little later on when the guy capped off another delightful comment with a racial epithet.
Then again, it wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world if it registered. My son and I have had some good chats the last few years after encountering guys like this during summers in the city and noting how idiotic they sound when they over-indulge this way. I’m hoping if we hear this sort of unavoidable (if you want to attend big, popular events) profanity and worse while we’re together and then talk about it at least a little, there’s a chance he’ll learn some negative lessons, i.e., ones in how not to act.
Posted on May 31, 2011