So I was all set to write about a completely different topic today but this morning’s paper had a cover story that was just too good not to write about.

Here’s the short version of the story: a JetBlue flight is returning to a New York City airport but has not landed yet when a passenger gets up and attempts to remove his luggage, stowed in the overhead compartment. A male flight attendant races down the aisle and instructs the man to put his luggage back and return to his seat. The passenger, instead, continues trying to remove his bag, hitting the flight attendant in the head with the suitcase and uttering a string of expletives most often heard on the docks. The flight attendant, having logged over twenty years with JetBlue and other airlines (and who has probably had his share of inconsiderate, irate, and non-rule-following passengers), returns to the front of the plane where he gets on the loud speaker, repeating what the passenger did and said to him, and then utters his own string of unprintable words, the crux of which were “take this job and shove it.” He then waits for the plane to land, grabs a beer from the refrigerator, inflates the emergency slide, throws his own bags down the slide first, and disembarks the plane. In other words, he snapped. He is arrested a few hours later at his home.

I have always thought that air travel had incredible potential for violence and rage because of the cramped quarters, number of people, and general insensitivity and incivility that seem to be commonplace in our society right now. Although I don’t think I would have handled this situation in the same way as the flight attendant, who knows really? After twenty years of being forced to deal with people who think that their schedule, comfort, and well-being is of the utmost priority to the exclusion of everyone else in the plane, I, too may have thrown my bags down the chute and fled.

The flight attendant seems unapologetic about the entire incident but it got me wondering: is his act of civil disobedience just contributing to the problem or just bringing the situation to light? The reason I wonder is that, in my various jobs—from counter girl at a bakery to editor at a publishing company—I have encountered all manner of the rude and ill-intentioned and always kept my mouth shut, invoking “the customer’s always right” mantra, even if it didn’t actually apply. I have always felt that taking the high road was the more appropriate course of action rather than speaking my mind and inciting conflict with either those I work with or those I work for. I’m guessing that the flight attendant was prepared to resign, because it’s clear that his actions will never allow him to be working in a plane full of people again. But was it worth it for that one moment of satisfaction?

What are your thoughts, Stiletto faithful? Has there ever been a situation in which you did what you thought was right under the circumstances and found that, in hindsight, you should have let a cooler head prevail?

Maggie Barbieri

I woke up a Sunday morning about a week ago with the bright idea that I needed to provide child #2 more storage in his tiny bedroom. Although he has a beautiful, matching bedroom set that we purchased while he was still in utero, the height of the dresser that came with the set was up until now too high for him to get his clothes out of the top drawer. Child #2, being an extremely agile critical thinker and climber, solved this problem by using the bottom drawer as a step stool and hoisting himself up to pull out the top drawer. The result? Two broken drawers in a five-drawer dresser.

I consider myself something of a whiz with a hammer and a butter knife and have repaired this piece of furniture several times throughout the years on my own. But American craftsmanship not being what it used to be, child #2 was able to break both drawers immediately following my repair and has been left with only three drawers that serve any purpose. That, coupled with the fact that I am convinced he’s going to pull the top drawer out and give himself a subdural hematoma spurred me to wake up and call my friend, Mary Ann, and ask her if she wanted to drive to a big-box furniture store that shall remain nameless. Big-box furniture store has good, cheap furniture. The only catch is that you have to put it together yourself. How hard could that be? I asked myself. Mary Ann assured me that her handy husband had no problem assembling the two dressers that she bought a few weeks earlier and that they were excellent examples of Scandinavian craftsmanship.

Bonus—Mary Ann has an SUV. We could shop to our hearts’ content and still have enough room to put all of our purchases in the back. The whole day was to be a thing of beauty. We would even schedule time to have Swedish meatballs in the big-box furniture store’s cafeteria. What could better?

What could be better? Furniture that is already assembled.

Two things I didn’t count on? Technical drawings/directions, and almost one hundred degree temperatures with sixty percent humidity.

I decided that there was no time like the present. I also know, from experience, that the longer I let things like assembling furniture from big-box Scandinavian furniture stores go, the more likely it is that aforementioned furniture will be sold, for a loss, at a tag sale at some date in the future. So, armed with a butter knife and a hammer, I plopped myself in child #2’s room and set about putting together a three-drawer dresser.

Step 1: Put it together backwards.

Step 2: Nail backing of dresser to front of backwards dresser.

Step 3: Curse as if you’re an extra on “The Sopranos.”

Step 4: Take backing off of front-ing, pull out nail holes that now adorn the front, and complain to husband.

Step 5: Wonder why husband can’t read minds and bring you a glass of cold Chardonnay when you think about it.

Step 6: Put drawers together.

Step 7: Attempt to put drawers in and realize that dresser is still backwards.

Step 8: Take backing off again and kick drawer.

Step 9: Leave room, your hair dripping sweat and curse out big-box Scandinavian furniture store, swedish meatball gas building in your abdomen.

Step 10: Do not go back into room. Stare longingly at half-assembled dresser.

I let it go three days before returning to it. Cost of dresser: $149. Amount of time it took me to put together: 6 hours. Me swearing off big-box furniture stores: Priceless.

Maggie Barbieri

You can’t go anywhere in this village without hearing about a terrible problem that exists and that is compromising the future of young minds. It is talked about incessantly at parties, at the playgrounds, and in the gourmet shops in town. It’s the age-old problem that TEENS DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO IN THE SUBURBS.

I didn’t realize what an epidemic this was or how detrimental it was to our children’s psyches. To combat this horrible situation, the village board proposed the idea of a “teen center,” location to be determined, to be constructed somewhere in the village. This teen center would show movies, have ping pong tables, host discussion groups (ostensibly to talk about one’s feelings, I’m guessing), and be a place where kids could get together in a safe, controlled environment. All of this was received with open arms from adults until the discussion progressed to where this teen center would exist. At that point, it because a classic case of suburban NIMBY or “Not in My Backyard,” which happens with just about everything in this village.

One of the suggested sites was a village-owned building that is right across the street from my house. I didn’t have a problem with it being there because the building is generally unused and to my thinking, no self-respecting teen was going to hang out in a teen center anyway. There are far more interesting things to do than play village-endorsed ping pong when you could be out wandering the streets with your fake I.D. looking for action, which from what I understand, is what many teens do on a weekend night.

The problem with a teen center, in my opinion, is that the kids who actually need a teen center, the real mischief makers, aren’t going to go anywhere near such a place unless it is to make mischief. Mark my words: the teen center will be populated by the good teens and while there’s nothing wrong with that, it doesn’t solve the problem that parents seem to think exists in small towns everywhere which is that many kids have nothing to do. As a result, they get into trouble.

I have pondered this idea of “generation whatever”—heck, what generation are we on anyway?—being forced into a life devoid of intellectual endeavors and/or fun activities and then created a list of what kids could do to make their lives more interesting in the face of daunting boredom and ennui.

1. Get a job: It seems to me that not many kids have jobs these days. Many kids play a variety of sports which make it virtually impossible to get a job that fits their schedule. However, a friend whose son is a star on our high school football team has managed to do so, working at a local bagel store from six in the morning until nine in the morning on the weekends, after which he goes to practice. Another kid I know who is very active in school plays manages to work at the gourmet grocery store in his off hours. It can be done. And it might help with the boredom. Nothing says excitement like a suburban mom screaming about the price of Land o’ Lakes yellow American.

2. Volunteer: Volunteering opportunities abound in this village and the county in which it is situated. My daughter and I volunteer every month at a soup kitchen not five miles from here. I do know that a group of kids goes to Nicaragua each year to build houses and latrines, and spend a good part of the year fundraising to offset the cost of each kid’s trip. In this village alone, we have a group that cares for the sick, homebound, and poor, and opportunities to get involved are plentiful. Our local library looks for volunteers to stack books, manage donations, and keep the library running smoothly. Our church does “midnight runs” to New York City to feed and clothe the homeless. Our Little League team always needs volunteers to play with the “Challengers,” developmentally and physically disabled kids who have their own league. There is no shortage of things that privileged kids can do to help others. Finding a volunteer program to get involved with is a perfect way to stave off boredom.

3. Study: Here’s a novel concept: take even an hour out of the time that you would be out carousing and hit the books. There is so much talk about getting into a good college these days, much more so than when I was a kid. (Case in point: I applied to two schools. Today’s kids average around eight.) Getting into a good school—or the one you have your heart set on—requires good grades and the only way to get good grades is to hit those books. Ideally, I should apply this advice to exercise, but since I’m pontificating, my habits are not up for review right now.

I grew up in a suburb and my parents grew up in the city. When remarking upon today’s kids and their lack of activities, my father said, “I grew up in the Bronx. There was nothing to do. So we hung out.” There’s another idea: just hang out. Walk down to our beautiful river and stroll along its banks. Take the dog. Take your little brother or sister. Stop and smell the roses. Sometimes, doing nothing is the best activity there is.

Thoughts, Stiletto faithful? What should today’s kids be doing to keep themselves occupied?

Maggie Barbieri

Lenore Skenazy is a writer who I have followed throughout the years, having read her column faithfully in the New York Daily News when it ran there. She writes about life in the city as a parent and working mom, and I have always found something to relate to in her essays. She is a good writer with a great sense of humor with whom I always manage to find common ground when it comes to parenting, marriage, or living in the Metropolitan area.

Her latest book, Free Range Kids: How to Raise Safe, Self-Reliant Children (Without Going Nuts with Worry), sounds like a book that I would like to read. Rather, it sounds like a book I SHOULD read because as anyone who reads this blog knows, I’m a worrier of the first order. If worrying were an art, well, I’d be Michelangelo. In the book, Skenazy contends that we should stop worrying about our kids, stop holding them “captive,” and start letting them live. Let them discover the world. In her case, that means allowing her nine-year-old to take the subway by himself. In my case, that means allowing my eleven-year-old to walk three houses up the street to play with a friend. Baby steps, people, baby steps. I visited her Amazon page to read more about the book and was impressed with her sixty-six five-star reviews and complete lack of one-star reviews. She almost had me.

Until “Take Your Children to the Park…and Leave Them There” day.

While publicizing the book, Skenazy put forth the premise that kids should be allowed to go to the park and play, an argument that I actually agree with. She contends that children spend too much time indoors and argues that nobody is really allowed to go outside and play anymore. All reasonable. All true. Today’s parents, myself included, spend too much time thinking about what our kids should be doing, managing their time to the very last second, without allowing them to do anything but bend to our social will. These days, when child #2 asks me if he can play in the woods behind our house, my answer is, “Not without a friend! Stay together! And make sure you check yourself for ticks when you get back in! Oh, and don’t forget to wear sunscreen! How many brussel sprouts do you want with your grilled chicken?” as opposed to, “Sure! Have a good time! Don’t come back until I call you for dinner! We’re having all the foods you love!”

What I don’t agree with is the age that Skenazy thinks is the best time to try out the theory that kids should go and play and meet other children, all without the watchful eyes of their parents: seven or eight. Seven or eight? Those are ages that I just can’t get behind.

Believe me, I know children at the tender age of seven or eight who appear very mature, more mature than I sometimes am. Downright adult-like. But in reality, they aren’t. They are little kids who might have enviable communication skills or a higher level of maturity than say, some forty-year-olds but they are still children who live in a world that is populated by many wonderful and kind people but some not-so-great people. Some of these not-so-great people are even other children. I have had the pleasure of sitting beside a playground the last several weeks at child #2‘s Little League games and I eavesdrop on the shenanigans that go on while children are playing, and sometimes, these shenanigans are not terribly positive. Back in the day, we would have called them “character-building,” but in today’s “everyone’s a winner!” world, they are just downright mean.

Yes, I know: it’s all part of growing up. But the idea of dropping a seven-year-old at the park, particularly one in New York City where Skenazy lives, doesn’t seem safe. I think I could get behind a twelve-year-old being allowed to roam free, but when I (hopefully) get there, we’ll need a lot of xanax to keep me mellow as the newly-anointed “independent” child goes off to explore the world.

I think Skenazy ultimately has the right idea but to me, but we differ on the execution and the details. She’s right that we over-manage everything about children’s lives and that we need to back off. We put too much pressure on them to achieve in school and give them anxieties about life and their future that they just don’t deserve, in my opinion. But when it comes to freedom, we need to stress to them—and by “them,” I mean children over seven—that that freedom comes with responsibility. That responsibility includes being safe, being kind to others, and being respectful of everyone you encounter. And knowing when to involve an adult. I think there’s a happy medium between Skenazy’s world where children I consider too young can rule the world and my world, where my kids who have their learner’s permits still have to text their mom when they arrive at the library, just a ten-minute walk away.

What do you think, Stiletto readers?

Maggie Barbieri