On my way to the hotel terrace this afternoon, I walk past a couple with a little boy. The mother is in her early forties, the father is in his late fifties, and the boy is not yet three. As he squirms out of his baby carriage close to the hotel entrance, he slips and scrapes his knee against the cobblestones. The scrape is only superficial, but he first takes a deep breath, and then he starts wailing at the top of his voice. He is a big boy, too. Everyone on the terrace looks his way. The wailing goes on while I am looking for a table in lasting shade. It goes on while I am ordering my light lunch. And it is still going on unabated almost ten minutes later. The parents look utterly baffled. They have no idea what to do with their precious bundle. Although they are a bit embarrassed on account of the unending racket, they are doing their best to cajole their poor toddler, who resolutely keeps wailing at the top of his voice. The moral? If you must, have your children in your teens or early twenties. This is when scrapes like the one the whole hotel terrace has witnessed this afternoon are left to the child alone. If you are past your prime, though, spare us from your bungling parenthood.