Tragic story at 2-year-old who fell to his death at Lakers game had crawled out of parents' sight | L.A. NOW | Los Angeles Times . How could this have been prevented? Is the venue liable?
As the venue, isn't it our job to protect our patrons though?
Is it all that unreasonable for a balcony edge to be 2-year-old proof?
I'm certainly not exempting the parents from at least a portion of the responsbility, but I mean, c'mon, almost the entire premise of our jobs as entertainment staff is protecting anyone from any hazards they may encounter while at our events. At the very least, it's the venue's responsbility to say "no children x years old and younger in the balcony areas."
What is "two year old proof"? Seriously, if you're designing a facility what would you have to do to meet that criteria? And if you did that, should you be liable if something still happens? Now extend that to "idiot proof". Is that a realistic goal if even possible? On the other hand, imagine the lawsuits if you denied access based on age or height and could not show a reasonable reason for that specific limit. Lawyers could probably have a field day with that.As the venue, isn't it our job to protect our patrons though?
Is it all that unreasonable for a balcony edge to be 2-year-old proof?
I'm certainly not exempting the parents from at least a portion of the responsibility, but I mean, c'mon, almost the entire premise of our jobs as entertainment staff is protecting anyone from any hazards they may encounter while at our events. At the very least, it's the venue's responsbility to say "no children x years old and younger in the balcony areas."
Two primary situations cause me to yell at my kids.
The first is fear of them getting hurt. Saturday, for example, while my wife worked, I took advantage of an invitation to a Staples Center suite and brought my kids there. The Clippers happened to be playing, but that wasn't why I was going. The reasons were to spend time with the friend who invited me, and to be in a confined space where I could patrol all three of my children.
Except you realize once you get there that the space isn't entirely confined. The Plexiglas in front of the suite is so low, a dachshund could see over it. That consterned me throughout the game, which I was hardly able to pay any attention to, though for the most part the kids were good.
Then, in the fourth quarter, while I held the baby, while my daughter gabbed with her schoolmate, my 4-year-old stood on the ledge to the right of the second row of seats, with a smile. And I could read his mind. He was going to try to jump and land on the ledge right in front of the first row of the suite, fronted only by that low window of Plexiglas. And if he didn't stick the landing, if he stumbled forward, he was going to tumble right out of the suite down to the level below.
I yelled his name. I screamed, "No! No! NO!!!" He took off in the air, and he landed on his two feet.
I practically dropped the baby - I laid him down with such haste that his head knocked against the base of a chair. I scrambled over the seats and grabbed my elder son before he got any other ideas.
I lectured him, sternly, emotionally, angrily, almost tearfully but most of all, hopelessly. I lectured him that he had to listen, that the word "No" was a no-holds-barred stop sign that he had to obey. It's a lecture that I've given him on a different scale hundreds of times now, over matters much less perilous, precisely because I wanted him to make sure he listened to me when it really mattered.
It doesn't work. I keep doing it, but it doesn't work. I don't remember ignoring my father hardly ever in my lifetime, but my son does it a number of times each day. After I finished with him, exasperated, I went to the back of the suite, trying to collect myself - and kicked a cabinet. (Even at a Clipper game, where exasperation is par for the course, this gets noticed.)
The frustration is getting to me. I know he's only 4. I know. I'm trying to do what the books and the sage and my head all tell me, with timeouts and 1-2-3 and not getting emotional. But this kid nearly leaped out of a suite without a net; before that he nearly rode his trike into a street. He's a wonderful boy, but he's got a mind of his own and then some. He has to have what he wants and do what he wants to do. And the fear that it churns inside me makes me lose it and yell at him, because nothing is working and I don't want him to end up in the hospital or worse.
The second reason I yell at my kids is out of impatience. If the previous scenario can at least in part be excused as selfless concern, this second situation is more selfish. Yes, I want the kids to brush their teeth the first time I ask, so that they get to bed on time and get enough sleep for the next school day, but I also want them to do it so that I can get to the things I need to do - like Dodger Thoughts, for example.
If I surrender to the kids, if I turn off the clock and just let the pace dictate the pace, it makes a huge difference. If I do all that, I relax. But it's not automatic. The baby is up by 6 a.m., and with that I'm on the clock, either at home or at work, until my 6-year-old daughter turns out her light at 8 or 8:15 p.m. That doesn't leave me much time to attend to the rest of my life. The pressure builds, and I have to make a conscious decision how to deal with it. Sometimes, it's hard to convince myself to surrender. One day it can feel so easy, and the next it feels so difficult.
Either way, I've already yelled at my kids more than my parents ever yelled at me. In that respect, I'm 180 degrees from the dad I want to be. I can't tell you how ashamed I am of this. I want these kids to be good people, but I have to be more willing to let them make more mistakes. I'm too demanding, too proactive, too protective, too paranoid. I need to toughen up, by letting go.
Over the past few years, I think I've already achieved this with the Dodgers. It takes the extreme to make me angry. I offer my opinion, I react, but mostly it's live and let live, hoping for the best, often settling for something less. Before I started this website, I think Dodger lows got to me more than the highs. Now, it's the reverse. The good moments truly elate me, the bad stuff goes away.
It's not a coincidence that since 2002, the year that Dodger Thoughts and my first child were both born, my kids became the real pennant race. But I have to accept that winning and losing are both inevitable. I don't want to be the brat kicking dirt at the umpire. I want to be the guy who accepts defeat with grace and calm and looks straight ahead to the next game.
Again, why the devil would take three kids solo to a game they won't watch or remember. It is taking a risk for no apparent reason.
Maybe the tickets are cheaper than the babysitter?
I understand the Monday morning quarterback syndrome but a little forethought is also in order. Why bring a small child to an event that they have no appreciation for nor will remember. This has nothing to do with safety, beforehand, but with parenting and consideration for other people. How many times are their unwatched or unrestricted kids in theatres, restaurants and other places that takes away the ability to enjoy the function for the parents if they are watching the kid/s and others if they aren't. Then add the possible safety issues and that is a whole other layer. Just seems to be a change in the parenting paradigm.
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