Action shot of quality parenting on Russian Hill.
These Californians are a friendly people. Also, very prone to giving out advice and commentary. Never before have we been approached in a public place by some random stranger who tells us that (a) they approve of something we’re doing, and (b) here’s what else we should do to be even better, but here it seems to happen all the time.
The first one was Andy on Russian Hill. We were sitting in a tiny park at the top of the hill, eating our bits-and-pieces lunch, and he was out walking his dog. He opened by telling us that he could tell we were very good parents. We waited warily for his follow-up, wondering if this was meant for sarcasm (since shortly before the girls had been fighting bitterly over salt and pepper packets for their hard-boiled eggs). Luckily he seemed to have missed that part and was instead impressed that none of the girls were wearing headphones or looking at screens. (Nadia was listening to this speech and clearly barely restraining herself from sighing and rolling her eyes.) He went on to tell us that his grandmother always said that you should do one good thing for someone every day – that’s how you earn your place on the planet – and that we should now pass on the favor to someone else. We have been keeping our eyes peeled for screen-less children to compliment.
This is advice I would definitely take if I were fool enough to drive here.
The next day it was a woman on the bus, who later identified herself as a teacher. She asked how old the girls were, and then immediately jumped to asking me if I had been able to stay home with the kids at all. It wasn’t clear what she would think of Bob staying home instead, but fortunately she approved. It’s a good thing, because the kids’ behavior on the buses was not always the best, and I imagine she would have blamed daycare.
Nadia saw this piece of advice on the street in Chinatown and thought it said, “No dumpling”. I can’t quite figure out the crab thing.
Today at the pool we met a man who was testing the chlorine level. Maybe he’d heard us yelling at the kids or something, because he launched right onto an impassioned speech on how much we would miss them when they were gone, no matter how much we might look forward to that day. He and his wife had thought they’d be happy, but after dropping their youngest off at college they’d had to pull over to the side of the road to cry. Of course, now they’re living the life, traveling around to various state and national parks as the whim takes them, and volunteering in exchange for room and board. He very much wanted us to recommend this strategy to our parents, and went so far as to come back later with the website address for signing up. (“Once you’re in, you’re in for life!” he told us gleefully. Clearly he is not acquainted with any of our parents.)
Even though I’m making fun of them a little, we did enjoy talking to all of them, and do like being in a place where people don’t always keep a polite distance. We have encountered many examples of kindness here – various strangers helping us without being asked when they saw us squinting perplexedly at bus maps; the cable car operator who beckoned the kids out of the interior of a packed cable car to instead stand outside with him in the back; the woman at the café who pulled kids onto her lap so as to offer us chairs; the couple who were talking to every person on the beach, trying to find the owner of some car keys they’d found on the ground; the many patient souls who have smiled rather than glared when a bunch of noisy children invaded their quiet park/bus/restaurant/street corner. It seems like a happy place, and we can easily see why.
Grip man’s view from the cable car caboose