Pub Crawl

A friend (who does not have kids) recently asked me and a fellow new father what the most inappropriate location was that we had so far taken our children (with or without our wives' knowledge). Reflecting on this query, it dawned on me that during his short life so far, my wife and I have taken our son on several occasions . . . into a bar.

Yes, I know. But I'd like to explain. It was always during the day. Never at night. And they were, let's say, pubs, rather than bars. Brewpubs, for instance. That's practically a restaurant . . . even if there are, say, giant vats of beer in the back. If we were living in England (or Ireland), the pub would be a perfectly normal venue to bring a toddler.

Don't judge us. It's not like we gave him beer or anything . . .

No, really. We didn't. But we have fed him bar food. That's okay, right?

Really, stop judging us.

We have acknowledged that this might be not be the best parenting maneuver. Of course, we've also found it highly amusing to be sitting in a bar with a baby. It's like that scene in Sweet Home Alabama. "You have a baby . . . in a bar."

He likes it. Good food, warm atmosphere. There was one time when he was fascinated, I mean really transfixed, by the giant silver vats on display behind the bar, with the pressure gauges and everything, where the beer is being brewed. I mean, it's practically educational.

Seriously, stop judging us.