Those are fighting words. Bon Jovi is a New Jersey icon! We have a rest area on the Parkway named after him. He opened a pay-what-you-wish restaurant where if you have no money you can eat for free. He goes over there and washes dishes!
Your poem reminds me of living in the Bay Area when my son, Levi, was around 10 years old. We went to a lot of art galleries, and the vast majority of them were welcoming to our family. There was only one that was outwardly rude about having a child (how dare we) in their sanctified space. (For the record, he just looked at stuff and asked questions. He wasn’t a tear-around-the-place type of kid.) I’m not a Bon Jovi fan either, but I’ll make an exception for uppity types.
Those are fighting words. Bon Jovi is a New Jersey icon! We have a rest area on the Parkway named after him. He opened a pay-what-you-wish restaurant where if you have no money you can eat for free. He goes over there and washes dishes!
Your poem reminds me of living in the Bay Area when my son, Levi, was around 10 years old. We went to a lot of art galleries, and the vast majority of them were welcoming to our family. There was only one that was outwardly rude about having a child (how dare we) in their sanctified space. (For the record, he just looked at stuff and asked questions. He wasn’t a tear-around-the-place type of kid.) I’m not a Bon Jovi fan either, but I’ll make an exception for uppity types.