Harry the King

If you travel to Disneyland Paris (see my previous blog entry) by rail (as I did), the Eurostar trip is a themed attraction in itself. The problem is you never know what the theme will be until you are well on your way. For Ronan and me, the trip out could certainly be termed the 'Rude-People-With-Their-Oversized-Baggage' ride — loads of people shoving their way to the doors before the train even stops. Then when it actually does, blocking the doors with their baggage for a good five minutes. Lovely! And so considerate of others.

The theme of the return trip is usually predictable. Full of exhausted and yet completely hyped-up children, I would call it 'It's a Smalls World from Hell'. It has no international flavour (although I sometimes think Kent should be a foreign country), but plenty of under-sized 'persons' who have been convinced that the world — canal boats, trains and all — revolves around them. There was the 8 year-old* who the moment she sat down said, 'Daddy, I'm bored. What can I do?' Luckily, she found something to do; that was, fight with her 3 year-old sister for most of the journey. Then there was the 3 year-old across the aisle from me who swung on the arm of her seat so much, that she finally fell and banged her head pretty badly, judging from the screams she produced. At which point, her mother took her in her arms, cuddled her and soothed her 'ouchie'. Why this woman could not make her daughter stop swinging on the arm rest in the first place, is beyond me. Perhaps it's simply easier and more rewarding to say 'there, there' after the fact, than to say 'no' to begin with. But by far the most interesting of our fellow 'passengers' was Harry. Now, Harry must have been about four years old, and I know Harry's name because every ten minutes I heard someone in his party say, 'Sit down, Harry.' or "Harry, dear, why don't you sit down?' or 'Let's all sit down, Harry, shall we?' Never once did Harry sit down. He stood by his seat (which was right in front of mine); he walked up and down the aisle; he poked his finger into the face of the girl across the aisle, who had by then recovered from her 'ouchie'. But, sitting down, or listening to anything his minders said, seemed to be completely outside of Harry's abilities; and it seemed beyond their abilities or willingness to simply pick Harry up and plant his little bottom on the seat.

I got to thinking what things must be like at home. Harry must be an utter tyrant. How many times do his parents/carers have to tell him to sit down, eat his food, pick up his toys, play nicely, not pull the dog's tail, not use the crayolas on the nice new wallpaper? But more than that, how does little Harry ever know he has done something wrong? How does he ever learn to deal with the frustration which comes when we don't get our own way? And I wonder what prevents the adults in Harry's life from keeping appropriate boundaries and from confronting Harry's behaviour? I have known for a long time that we are producing an entire generation of people who have been so 'affirmed', that they will never be able to deal effectively with the real disappointment that comes from having their desires denied, or from being plainly and unquestionably wrong. Hopefully, someone will help Harry to realise that he is the centre only of his small world, before the big world teaches it to him the hard way.

*Please note, all ages are a reasonable guess. Sometimes you just can't tell. I have seen 45 year-olds behave as if they were 6.