Park Regret

From July 2011

We were at the park today with some really great friends. It was an awesome summer morning. Warm and sunny, tons of fun to be had, and lots of friends for the boys. I've been keeping Spencer tied to the couch the last two days thanks to an incident that landed him 15 stitches in his back, but his doctor-ordered 48 stay was up, so we celebrated it at the park. 

My friend noticed her little son (exactly Henry's age) get kicked hard by an older boy. She let it go because sometimes scuffles happen at the playground. A while later, my other friend's son (also exactly Henry's age) came up to inform us the same bigger boy was calling them all S-T-U-P-I-D. And when you're five, that's a swear word. 

We advised our gaggle to simply avoid the bigger boy and off they went. 

Shortly after, Henry appeared, red-faced and whining. The same boy had sat on Henry's back and shoved his face in the wood chips. I was hesitant to believe that such an incident had occurred until I saw his face covered in wood chips. 

So, I stood up, intent on finding the small perpetrator and letting him know (kindly of course!) that such behavior was not in keeping with good playground etiquette. 

That is until Spencer appeared, sobbing, wood chips stuck all over his face and dirt in his eyes. He told the exact same story Henry had told. 

Any intentions of being KIND to this little hoodlum were now gone. With the help of our friends, I located the little fart and told him in no uncertain terms that his treatment of those younger than him was 100% inappropriate and if he touched my children one more time he would have to answer to me. 

"Do you understand me?" I seethed, to which I was repaid with a meek, "Yes." and a head nod. 

We were packing up to leave a while later and I saw the boy with his mother. My friends and I went back and forth, do we talk to her or not? If our child was acting so horribly (kicking, using bad language and full-on abusing smaller children...) would we want someone to tell us? 

We decided not to say anything, with so many children to pack up and the lunch-desiring fussing in full-force, we decided to let it go. 

And readers, I shouldn't have. This child was straight up nasty. I should have marched myself right over to her and announced that her child was a delinquent. But I didn't. 

Part of it is that when I get angry, I tend to cry. It is a hideously embarrassing way that my body reacts to anger. I was already still feeling my blood boil from my encounter with the kid, and I wasn't anywhere near calm enough to talk rationally with her. 

The other part, well, I despise confrontation, regardless of how righteous my indignation. 

So, now I'm filled with regret. She was completely oblivious to her son's misbehavior. CLUELESS. I should have spoken to her. 

Grrr.