For my Second City comedy writing class, my teacher asked us to go and snoop on an authentic conversation between several people. So naturally I donned my Harriet the Spy notebook and headed over to the park, which to be fair, is a park I head to every day usually with my notebook in tow, but whatever.

The two people that I happened to observe were a bickering pair of grandparents–but not in the “Oh-you’re-so-cute-you-bicker-like-grandparents” sort of way. They were a very proper-looking pair. The wife had a humongous diamond on her left hand, the husband wore expensive, old men’s recreation wear. Their wrinkles were smoothed with botox. Their smiles were non-existent. The two sat, watching their children play with the grandchildren, and the grandma kept calling counsel out for the children’s safety.

“Don’t push so high! Is he wearing sunblock?” Nice things, motherly things, the type of worry-about-kid-things that occur when you have ovaries.

Logic based grandfather did his Logic-Based-Grandfather thing, saying “Let ’em be kids! They’ll be fine.” But he said these things to his wife with such vehemence and scorn that it hardly sounded like normal bickering. The wife ignored him soundly with a silence that spoke loudly. The only times that they had “genuine” conversation was when they targeted certain people on the playground to roundly abuse.

Of the man going down the slide in a business suit:

• “Do you think he’s really here for his kids, or is he trying to pick up women?”
• “Whatever he’s here for, he’s probably doing it on the company’s dime.

So yes, I am judging here, which is what they were doing too, so I’m probably equally guilty of unkindness here. I don’t know their backstory, I don’t know if the husband spilled coffee that morning. It’s more than likely that these people were charming but going through an argumentative sort of day. Goodness knows, I don’t always behave well in public either. But I share these recollections so you understand how nervous I became when a gothic man opened the cast-iron gate to the park pushing a black baby stroller.

Admittedly, he didn’t look like the playground sort. He had long, curly hair to his shoulders, cinched in a disheveled ponytail. His unkempt beard covered some of the slogan on his black shirt. He had black shorts that revealed a heavily-“tatted” leg. Also, he had a wallet chain, and pierced ears.

The couple on the bench paused with mouths agape, like vultures trying to decide what part of a carcass to attack first.

The gothic father began unbuckling the stroller, and I think we were all curious to see what his “spawn” looked like. From the stroller, he excavated a tiny toddler–the sweetest, most good-tempered toddler you’ve ever seen… wearing a black onesie, a black fedora, and black sunglasses.

Just like dad.

The vultures coughed. Derisive.

The gothic father gave an affectionate kiss to his son’s forehead before placing his baby in the toddler swing. As his father pushed, the son giggled. Then the black-clad toddler toddled over to the slides, clinging to his dad’s pinky finger. His dad followed attentively, and slid with his little boy down a slide that was much too big for his wide hips. Together, they romped all over the playground. This gothic man was easily the most attentive parent at the park that day.

As he gently tucked his little boy back into his stroller, the grandparent vultures closed their agape mouths and tucked their unkind words back into their brains… They didn’t say a thing about this peculiar man. He’d won them over. As the man slowly pushed his black stroller out of the park, the grandparents on the bench started talking about the weather.

This was the best secretive photo I could get, and I realize it’s not stellar. Forgive me. But isn’t this a delightful pair?