What is the purpose of life? Everyone ponders this question from time to time, but few have an answer. I do:
The purpose of life is to NOT get your food spit in.
Perhaps I'm a bit more paranoid than others in this regard, but I basically assume that someone is spitting in my food unless I can prove otherwise. I've basically conditioned myself to eating spit, but still make grave efforts to minimize the amount that I consume.
Accordingly, I strongly disagree with the suggestions of "demanding" that the manager take care of things and "threatening" what you will do if it isn't corrected. That's a sure bet to have a loogie hocked into your risotto. Of course, much like complaining about the 13 minute wait at Burger King's drive through, once you have your food you can let them have it with both barrels.
On the other hand, not getting hit by some snotty kid's dad is not the purpose of life (following the double negative and it makes sense). So here's how I'd handle that situation.
(1) If the kid is under 3, I'd take every opportunity to give the parents "the look" fully realizing that this would have no effect other than to make me feel better. At this age, it really isn't the kid's fault - it's clearly the parents fault and you aren't going to change their behavior in a 2 hour span of your life. So, basically, I'd just do my best to not let it ruin my night - but I have an uncanning ability to block out kids. Perhaps it comes from all those flights in & out of Orlando.
(2) If the kid is over 3, then I'd handle it basically the same way I handle the "seat kicking" issue. First, give it a little bit of time to see if the parents actually do anything about it (and saying "stop that" 87 times does NOT constitute doing something about it). If they don't, (and I'll use the restaraunt example here, but easily adaptable to the seat kicker on the plane) I'd go and adress the child directly. Clearly the parents are clueless about proper etiquette and how to control their child, so addressing them would be pointless.
I figure at 3 & over, the kid should be able to carry on a half-way decent conversation and understand cause and effect and the like. So my first attempt would be to explain to the kid why his behavior is disruptive - something the parents probably haven't even considered doing. They just repeat "stop that, stop that, stop that" incessantly.
So I'd go over to the table and be like "Hey buddy, how ya doing?" Let him answer. "What are you eating tonight" Let him answer. "You here on vacation, what'd you do today, etc. etc. etc." After buidling a 30 second rapport, lay it on him: "You know, I'm sitting over there at that table and it seems like you're talking pretty loud (or running around, or whatever may be the problem). It's kind of hard for me and my wife to sit an enjoy our meal with you yelling. And we can't really hear any of the other tables around us, so it must be that you're talking a little bit louder than everybody else. Do you think you could try to be a little more quiet, maybe even whisper?"
Surprisingly, sometimes this actually works. Once you bring it to the kids attention that he's disturbing the people around him, he feels guilty (I guess) and prefers not to be such an annoyance. If you happen to run across a kid that responds to this, a few gentle reminders are typically necessary since kids seem to get overly excited pretty easily. In a restaraunt, just making eye contact and giving him the "shhhh" sign may do it.
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Now, there are drawbacks to this approach too. One, you really make the parents feel like clods which may offend them, but sometimes the truth hurts. Two, you sometimes run across a kid who is just a smart ... with absolutely no discipline whatsoever. This kid is as likely to say Eff You as anything when you try to reason with him. Three (and this may be the worst, and is worse on a plane than in a restaraunt), the kid may be starved for attention and be so excited about "making a new friend" (after all, you actually talked to him) that you'll never get rid of him. I have actually had this happen to me on flights where I end up hearing the kid's entire life story and answering the "why" question 800 times between Orlando and Atlanta. Generally, though, if that happens, I figure the 2 hours of torment I'm through is worth it if it makes some neglected kid feel good about himself for a day.
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Just to make a long post longer, this reminds me of a funny story.
We were on a flight recently and ended up sharing our row with an unaccompanied minor (9 year old boy). When the flight started, he was very well behaved an seemed rather mature. There was a family sitting behind us. Mom & 2 boys (maybe 3 & 7) directly behind us with Dad across the aisle. Well the 3 year old kept kicking this kid's (the unaccompanied minor) seat and it was bugging the hell out of him. About every 5 minutes he'd turn around and yell at the kid to stop kicking his seat. The parents, of course, were oblivious to the fact that their little darling could do anything wrong.
Well, literally after about an hour of this and 20+ times of the kid yelling at the 3 year old, he (the unaccompanied minor) reached behind his seat and grabbed the kids foot and wouldn't let go. The older brother (7 year old) quickly got into the action and it eventually escalated into an "enthusiastic" kick & grab fight. It really got pretty out of hand.
Well, the parents of the kids behind us basically completely ignored it for about a half hour, but then finally had the kids switch places with the parents to separate the boys a little bit. I was laughing the whole time because I'm sure these parents behind us were wondering why we were saying nothing to the kid sitting next to us. Surely they assumed he was our kid. (I did, actually, at one point suggest that he settle down a little bit, and that seemed to do the trick). But I didn't give a crap. They're dang kid had been kicking the seat for an hour and I thought it was OK if the unaccomanied minor wanted to cause a bit of a scene.
I didn't get a chance to get a look on their faces when we got up after the flight and left "our child" on the plane when we left. But I bet they felt like a couple of clods - or maybe they were just clueless.