Mall Mehness, by Katiedid Langrock

I'm not really a mall person. Never have been.

I had no tween need to buy the uber-popular electronic talking board game Mall Madness. No desire to just go to the mall and hang. Folks always claim that malls are great for people-watching, but I just never really had the interest.

In fact, the few times I tried to engage in this adolescent rite of passage, horrible things happened. One time, I bought a Backstreet Boys album. The other time, I was arrested for shoplifting. I'm not sure which action is more embarrassing.

Backstreet Boys blew up and fizzled out, but the repercussions of my 14-year-old brush with the law had 'N Sync-type staying power — or, more accurately, Justin Timberlake-type staying power.

I know that everyone in Shawshank is innocent, and so was I — innocent of actually having stolen, not innocent from knowing that the friend I was with had stolen. After paying a fine, I was forbidden to ever enter the department store again. My pleasure; it was just another reason to avoid malls altogether.

Malls do horrible things to you. But malls are also open late. Late on winter nights, when it gets dark early. I had promised my son I'd take him to a park after school. When I got held up at work and had to pick him up late, I hoped he'd forgotten. His screaming "park!" from the back seat suggested otherwise. Is it bad to wish a poorer memory on your child?

The mall — with its inside playground, featuring padded foam and rubber — seemed the only choice.

I sat on a bench with other parents, one eye on my son and one eye on a series of incoming texts from my high-school group of friends around news of a new pregnancy in the group.

A family of 10 came into the mall play area. Something about the way they dressed and styled their hair indicated they were not native. Their foreign tongue confirmed my theory. Was that Czech? I only know how to say two words in Czech: bouncy ball and beer. Shockingly, neither of those two words came up in their conversation.

The family was beautiful, with Key lime eyes and honey hair. I, like all the other playground parents, looked up at the family because they were gorgeous. I kept looking at them, however, because they were clearly talking about us. After observing a few pantomimes and moments of shared laughter, I realized they were mocking the playground parents for being on our phones.

It was true. Every last one of us was sitting on a bench with at least one eye fixed on a tiny screen. Every parent, that is, except for the foreigners, who were standing up, aiding their children down the slides.

It reminded me of a time when I was backpacking in Denmark. A girl who shared my hostel bunk looked me up and down and said, "You're American."

I asked how she knew, seeing as I hadn't spoken a word yet.

The girl smirked. "Please. Hair in ponytail, white sneakers, ripped knees on jeans — what else could you be?"

I felt furious, as if I had been violated in some way. Her analysis of what my clothing said about me, though completely accurate, made me feel naked. I hated it. I hated being so transparent, so apparently clichéd. I immediately let my hair down.

A few months after being called out as an American, I came to terms with it and adopted a sense of pride. I liked that we are known for being loud, because we are a nation of enthusiasts, unlike countries that teach their people to restrain themselves. I liked my white sneakers, ponytail and jeans because I dress for comfort and functionality, unlike backpackers from some other countries who struggle to wear their high heels and sequins each day.

The beautiful foreign family at the mall was calling us playground parents out. The difference felt cultural. And once again, I was glad to have this moment. An opportunity for reflection. Is this the American parenting style or just the mall parenting style? I can't say. But unlike the case with my ponytail, I wasn't proud of myself for texting. So I put down my phone and began playing with my son on the slide.

They say malls are great for people-watching. They are great for being people-watched, too.

Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. Check out her column at http://didionsbible.com. To find out more about Katiedid Langrock and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.