As a fairly new parent, I am continuing to adjust to the way that the entire world, right down to the smallest details, is transformed by having kids. Gone for good are the days when I could slip quietly and inconspicuously into shops and restaurants without notice, bothering no one and no one bothering me, nice sometimes, depressingly lonely at others. For years, I was pretty much an invisible man in public places. Now, when I am in those very same places with Tammy and our two kids, Kayden, age 4, and Jack, 5 months, almost EVERYBODY notices, or so it seems.

In most instances, the presence of children, and this is perhaps especially true of very small children, tends to bring out the very best in people. When we are out tending to the day, shopping for groceries at Ingles or tracking down a new printer cartridge at Wal Mart, perfect strangers will nearly collide with us as we push the cart up and down the aisles so that they can get a good look at the children, their smiling faces descending like tropical birds down, down, down until their noses are nearly touching one of the kids noses.

“Well, aren’t you just the MOST precious thing! I bet your mommy and daddy are proud as can be.”

Then the standard parental checklist to go over: name (“how adorable, is it a family name”), age (“that is such a great age, you better enjoy it”), weight now (“they grow so fast”) and at birth (“wow, he was a big boy, wasn’t he”), and the inevitable comparisons to THEIR children, or, more likely, grandchildren.

“I have a little granddaughter that you really remind me of. She has the same dimples as you, the same big blue eyes.”

Even the people who do not stop us for a closer inspection and conversation often will slow down to get a good look. I follow their eyes as they train on the children, and I register the looks of wistfulness and unalloyed happiness on their faces. What is about seeing children that makes people so happy? Something about innocence, maybe, something about hope?

People are nice to us, the parents, too. Just last week, when we were vacationing at Sunset Beach, we were having dinner at a nice restaurant and Jack was in a particular fussy mood. At times like these, we cringe, because the last thing we want to do is disrupt someone else’s evening, and sometimes there is not much you can do to console an upset child. Our practice is to take our children out of public places if we cannot calm them after just a few minutes, but we realize that those few moments before we exhaust the tried and true methods of appeasement and move to last resort can be grating to other people who would prefer to enjoy their dinner without a baby shrieking his displeasure into their ears.

At home, our motto at such times is “embrace the chaos,” but this is not a mantra likely to be of much comfort to the folks in the next booth when Jack is on a crying jag. Then again, there may not be many folks in the next booth like the ones we met at Sunset Beach. Just as we were on the verge of taking Jack out of the restaurant — we had waited quite awhile to be seated and had just been served when he discovered that nothing we could say or do could soothe him in that place at that time — the lady in the next booth turned and said, “We were just noticing what beautiful children you have.”

“I am SO sorry he is being so noisy,” said Tammy, rising to take him out.

“If it’s OK with you, I would love to hold him while you eat,” she said. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

Tammy looked at me and I smiled and shrugged. The woman held Jack and bounced him up and down, cooing things in his ear. Within two minutes, he was grinning and having the time of his life.

“Would you like to come home with us?” Tammy asked the woman.

“Oh, I wish I could,” she said. “He is just precious. Ours are grown and gone. This one is completely adorable.”

Of course, not everyone is in complete agreement with this assessment. There are some people who believe that children should be seen and not heard. My grandfather was one of these, rest his soul. Then there are those people that believe children should neither be seen nor heard, especially not in any public places, and most especially not in restaurants. We ran into three of these people the last time we were in a restaurant, just a couple of days ago.

Even as we were being seated, this group performed a complete turnaround in perfect unison and gave us a huge collective sneer. Throughout the meal, even though the kids were pretty well behaved other than the usual snap, crackle, and pop of ambient noise common to all small children in restaurants, the people at that table could not resist turning around every so often and confronting us with sour, disapproving faces. When Jack sneezed and Kayden simultaneously lifted the bun off of her cheeseburger to inspect the melted cheese underneath, it seemed to be more than they could tolerate. They frowned at us extravagantly, then leaned in close for conspiratorial stage whispering.

“It is just so RUDE to bring those brats into a restaurant where people are PAYING to enjoy a nice, quiet meal. Why can’t they eat at home? Some people just have no class, no class at all.”

No more than a minute later, one of the sneering three had to answer his cell phone. Important call, I’m sure. If we had waited a bit longer, I am sure he would have broken out a cigar as well. You see, some people have class. Me, I’ve got children.

(Chris Cox is a teacher and writer who lives in Waynesville. He can be reached at jchriscox@bellsouth.net.)