Pay No Attention To Me

My mother tells me that when I was little, I used to come down in the morning, making eye contact with no one. But as I sat down to my cereal, I’d peer darkly at my family and, if I caught any of them looking, I’d holler, “Don’t look at my face!”

So, I was a weird kid.

I retain that weirdness. When I picked my 8^th-grade son up at the airport, returning from his class trip to Washington, DC, a bunch of the parents were standing in baggage claim holding up a banner made by the most bustle-y super-mom in the class: “Welcome home, 8^th Grade Class of XXX School!!! We love you!!!” 

Sweet, you say?

People smiled. (What else could they do? And some of those smiles were definitely smirks.)

I couldn't stand far enough away.

Am I just a party-pooper?

It seemed to me to be in the same league as men who hire sky writers to fly over televised sporting events in order to propose to the girlfriend who is sitting right next to them. (I wonder how many of those girlfriends say yes when in front of the television cameras only to say, “Hell, no” when those cameras are gone.)

Or like those scenes in movies where a couple has an argument in a public place and then passersby in the scene applaud when the cute couple finally makes up. Oh, please. My theory is that the people who make movies, such as actors, figure everyone loves to be the center of attention the way they do.

And then there are the people on reality television shows. “Don’t they know they’re being made fools of?” my kids will ask. Apparently not.

Just because someone is paying attention to you doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.