Two close friends of mine entered the covenant of marriage this past weekend, an event the details of which I may share with you later. As I have only one sibling (who is not, as of yet, the marryin’ type) the opportunity to be a part of weddings is still new and exciting for me. I really love wearing tuxedoes. 
More exciting, for a young and single lad as I am, is the bachelor party. I have experienced bachelor parties fraught with bacchanalia (several trips to Las Vegas) and those so subdued the alcohol had to be surreptitiously secured in back-pocket flasks.
Through all the golfing, paintballing, drinking, [ACTIVITY REDACTED]ing, and lap dance-enjoying I have participated in during previous bachelor parties, I have never been led to consider sociology of an urban community during one. Yet it was easily the primary thought in my mind for several hours Thursday night.
The stretch SUV limo dropped the fourteen of us off at the Centro Ybor Gameworks for an evening of college basketball, beer, and video games. The sight upon entering led me to turn to my schoolteacher friend Brian, who responded to my stunned expression with a simple, “Hillsborough County Spring Break.”
To say Gameworks was crawling with rugrats would be a severe understatement. I am not particularly fond of children, except those belonging to close friends who do not mind my attempts to brainwash their progeny with left-wing ideologies. Thus to be confronted with hundreds of unaccompanied minors and their sticky fingers was a bit unpleasant. I was, of course, with my friends and we quickly found the bar where I could angrily curse my hated Ohio State Buckeyes and assume that, given the late hour of 10:00, parents would be hauling their screaming butts to bed posthaste.
Yet that never happened. The volume of 9-12 year-olds didn’t decrease. The volume of parents or guardians never increased. Perhaps I am old-fashioned, or perhaps I am from a farm in Ohio and thus grew up with very different values. Or maybe I am getting older. I was, either way, appalled at how late these young children were allowed out in a place where a large number of adults were consuming alcoholic beverages. Where are their parents? At the age of these children, I was in BED by 10:00, let alone rambling around a bar.
Around midnight, we loaded back up into the SUV and headed toward a more adult-oriented establishment (yes, Tampa Ale House, what were you expecting?) yet I couldn’t shake the cognitive dissonance of my usual egalitarian attitudes butting heads with the judgmental feelings swarming around my mind.
I suppose I would have been more comfortable if there had been any supervision whatsoever, but there wasn’t. I iterate: Where are the parents?