A little girl pushed my kid today.
We were at the playground with other little kids, and this one girl wanted to play with a ball Wee One had. WO put it down and she picked it up. When WO went back for it, I intervened, and they sort of shared, then forgot the ball.
Later, right before the other girl was about to leave, she walked up to our stuff and said, “My ball.” I corrected her that it was ours. She pouted, went straight to where WO was standing on the sidewalk, and pushed her square in the chest.
Excuse me a second while I try to get my fucking temper under control…
I realize this child is a child, however, I wanted to curse and carry on at this kid. (Who the f… You little b…) I obviously didn’t. WO was crying, and the other mom came over. She intervened with her daughter, who was already apologizing. (Because you know you f…) But, again, this kid was a kid and her mom stepped up to intervene with her. I know that one day, WO will push someone, and it will be our turn to apologize and someone else’s turn to show grace.
I think I was channeling the undeserved abuse I got as a kid into this scene, which I know it wasn’t. It was just a tough place to be in. Because as the same time, I also felt an urge to be gracious and respectful to the offending child and protective of her own child. You know, to help each grow as little people.
I’m not sure I did that right, because I don’t really know how it’s done, but I think I did okay. But it was hard ’cause I didn’t want to. I just didn’t fucking want to. You push my kid, you get cursed out. (Does this make me a bad person? I hope not.)
Adulting with kids, man.