Bad Parenting

So E and I are at a restaurant the other night when I hear the following conversation.

Boy: Did Patton have a front row seat when he kicked the Nazis, um, in the butt?

Man: Yeah. Germany has this river at the border, the Rhine. Do you know what Patton did when he crossed it?

Boy: No.

Man: Don't tell your mother I told you this. He stood on the bridge and pissed in it.

Boy: What's that?

Man: Means he peed in it, went pee pee in the river.

It was a middle-aged man and his son who looked maybe six or seven years old. The boy attempted to become interested in his handheld video game, his food, his soccer team, baseball . . . but the only words coming out of his father's mouth had to do with how Napoleon was a good general, Hannibal was a good general, Hitler was a bad general, Rommel was a good general, and that in fact the Jews had NOT started World War II. Whatever schools this kid ever attends, I don't want my kids anywhere near them because he's being groomed to be the next kid who shoots up his classmates.