Today was another misadventure.
Today we arrived at the park after a long walk for a little play-time before lunch. As soon as we got there I noticed another mother and her little boy, who could not have been much older than my Emma, if at all.
He was a cute little boy, and I'll be darned if he wasn't the epitome of toddler high fashion. He had on bright blue skinny jeans, little combat boots, a smart little peacoat and a slouchy hat hanging off the back of his head. He looked like a baby Gap commercial. His mother looked 6 feet tall in her black high-heeled riding boots. She wore these almost glittering leggings that I wouldn't even dream of attempting to pull off, a black leather jacket, and was sipping away at a hot venti from Starbucks. There was not a single stray hair coming out of her perfectly constructed ice blonde bun.
This woman looked like a freaking Calvin Klein ad, whereas I looked like... Calvin Klein's cleaning lady. On laundry day. I cringed slightly at my dirty tennis shoes, baggy hoodie streaked with mud from Emma's shoes, and what can only be described as men's Adidas lounge pants. Because, let's face it, that's what they are. I was also at that moment struggling to remember whether or not I managed to put mascara on both eyes, or just the one... Whatever. It's a park. We're there to play and get dirty. And other mom's don't judge, right??
Wrong. Now, I'm not in this woman's head [thank goodness] so I can't definitively say I know what she was thinking, but I've got a pretty good idea...
Here's what went down:
Emma went running up the ramp on the jungle gym, a whirl of pink converse and blonde hair, on a tear toward the big slides. She must have caught that little boy's eye, because he went hurrying after her up the ramp. Emma came to a sudden stop at the top of the ramp and whipped around to face her pursuer. She held up her little hand by the side of her face in a half-wave and said "Hi!" as she does to pretty much any man, woman, or child she encounters.
The little boy just stared at her, perhaps shocked by her bold greeting, but I swear he started to smile a little bit, as Emma tried again, taking a little step toward him... "Hiiii!"
But by that point, his mother was standing next to the jungle gym where they were stopped.
"Come on, babe, don't talk to that little girl. She doesn't want to play with you."
Um. Say what?
I blinked at her, dumbfounded, before I regained my bearings and replied "Oh no, of course she wants to play with you! We like to make new friends at the park!"
This woman quite literally looked down her nose at me and said "Well, I'm trying to teach him not to talk to strangers." She grabbed him by the hand, turned on her pointy heeled boot, and ushered him back down the ramp and off to the other side of the park.
I was flabbergasted.
Since when does a sweet, friendly two-year-old accompanied by her mother and infant brother at a public park signify "stranger danger"?
Was there something wrong with us, besides the fact that I obviously put absolutely no effort into my ensemble for the day?
Was it Emma's slightly blue-tinged lips from the dum-dum sucker she got from the bank teller?
Could she see the remnants of this morning's oatmeal hiding in Emma's very messy ponytail?
Could she tell somehow that I let Emma watch an hour of TV this morning so I could catch up on laundry and dishes?
These thoughts and questions clouded my head and stung at my heart until my good sense returned to me and I realized that I was not the problem. Emma was most certainly not the problem. The problem is that some parents actually don't like the idea of their precious babies associating and interacting with other children. As if playing with another child might actually tarnish their smudge-free little angel.
Maybe it was just us. Maybe. Maybe that mother looked at the three of us and decided she didn't want her son making friends with my daughter, whatever the reason. Maybe he has a lot of other friends, and she did nothing but provide him with a bad example of how to interact socially with other people.
But my gut tells me otherwise. My gut tells me she does this all the time. My gut tells me this little boy has very few friends, if any. My gut tells me his mother is the type of person who whispers to him "Don't play with that little girl, she's not very cute and her clothes are dirty." or "Don't go near that little boy, he stinks."
I doubt she knows what it could do to him, for him to hear "that little girl doesn't want to play with you" all the time. I doubt she knows she's most likely raising the next class-asshole, who is conceited and excluding, and won't deign to be friends with any children who don't live up to his mother's outlandish standards. I doubt she knows just how vital it is for children to play with their peers and develop social skills. Children who don't interact with their peers at a young age are the ones who have trouble making friends. Who have trouble functioning in social situations. Who look at other children and can only focus on the differences, or what's "wrong" with them.
My guess is she will be the mother who stresses the importance to her son that he has only friends who are impressive and popular.
Here is one thing I can say for certain, little boy; Emma will be your friend. I can tell already that this is part of her personality. She is eager to be friends with everyone, and I will do everything in my power to only nurture and grow that instinct. Even if you do end up as the class jerk, she will be a friend to you when you need one, even if you don't always deserve it.
If we do right by her as her parents, she will be the one who stands up to the bullies, and then takes them by the hand- for everyone knows they are often just hurting for friendship. She will be the one who is a friend to the stinky kid. She will be the one to kindly and discreetly whisper "Maybe you should take a bath tonight." not to embarrass them, but so they know they have a friend who cares. I will, if I have to, ingrain into her head that it is much more important to be kind and friendly than impressive and popular. But I doubt I'll have to. As much trouble as this girl gives me, she is by nature sweet and kind to everyone she encounters.
My heart sank. How? How was I going to explain to my darling Emma that this little boy's mother did not want him to play with her? Luckily, Emma is Emma, and I didn't have to. She was off and running again toward the big slide, like nothing had even happened. I'm grateful that she is so blissfully unaware of other people's nastiness. But the day will come when I will have to try to explain away someone else's cruelty. I will be prepared. I will be prepared to teach her that no matter how much of a jerk someone is to her or to anyone else, she can rise above it by being courageous and kind.
Today we arrived at the park after a long walk for a little play-time before lunch. As soon as we got there I noticed another mother and her little boy, who could not have been much older than my Emma, if at all.
He was a cute little boy, and I'll be darned if he wasn't the epitome of toddler high fashion. He had on bright blue skinny jeans, little combat boots, a smart little peacoat and a slouchy hat hanging off the back of his head. He looked like a baby Gap commercial. His mother looked 6 feet tall in her black high-heeled riding boots. She wore these almost glittering leggings that I wouldn't even dream of attempting to pull off, a black leather jacket, and was sipping away at a hot venti from Starbucks. There was not a single stray hair coming out of her perfectly constructed ice blonde bun.
This woman looked like a freaking Calvin Klein ad, whereas I looked like... Calvin Klein's cleaning lady. On laundry day. I cringed slightly at my dirty tennis shoes, baggy hoodie streaked with mud from Emma's shoes, and what can only be described as men's Adidas lounge pants. Because, let's face it, that's what they are. I was also at that moment struggling to remember whether or not I managed to put mascara on both eyes, or just the one... Whatever. It's a park. We're there to play and get dirty. And other mom's don't judge, right??
Wrong. Now, I'm not in this woman's head [thank goodness] so I can't definitively say I know what she was thinking, but I've got a pretty good idea...
Here's what went down:
Emma went running up the ramp on the jungle gym, a whirl of pink converse and blonde hair, on a tear toward the big slides. She must have caught that little boy's eye, because he went hurrying after her up the ramp. Emma came to a sudden stop at the top of the ramp and whipped around to face her pursuer. She held up her little hand by the side of her face in a half-wave and said "Hi!" as she does to pretty much any man, woman, or child she encounters.
The little boy just stared at her, perhaps shocked by her bold greeting, but I swear he started to smile a little bit, as Emma tried again, taking a little step toward him... "Hiiii!"
But by that point, his mother was standing next to the jungle gym where they were stopped.
"Come on, babe, don't talk to that little girl. She doesn't want to play with you."
Um. Say what?
I blinked at her, dumbfounded, before I regained my bearings and replied "Oh no, of course she wants to play with you! We like to make new friends at the park!"
This woman quite literally looked down her nose at me and said "Well, I'm trying to teach him not to talk to strangers." She grabbed him by the hand, turned on her pointy heeled boot, and ushered him back down the ramp and off to the other side of the park.
I was flabbergasted.
Since when does a sweet, friendly two-year-old accompanied by her mother and infant brother at a public park signify "stranger danger"?
Was there something wrong with us, besides the fact that I obviously put absolutely no effort into my ensemble for the day?
Was it Emma's slightly blue-tinged lips from the dum-dum sucker she got from the bank teller?
Could she see the remnants of this morning's oatmeal hiding in Emma's very messy ponytail?
Could she tell somehow that I let Emma watch an hour of TV this morning so I could catch up on laundry and dishes?
These thoughts and questions clouded my head and stung at my heart until my good sense returned to me and I realized that I was not the problem. Emma was most certainly not the problem. The problem is that some parents actually don't like the idea of their precious babies associating and interacting with other children. As if playing with another child might actually tarnish their smudge-free little angel.
Maybe it was just us. Maybe. Maybe that mother looked at the three of us and decided she didn't want her son making friends with my daughter, whatever the reason. Maybe he has a lot of other friends, and she did nothing but provide him with a bad example of how to interact socially with other people.
But my gut tells me otherwise. My gut tells me she does this all the time. My gut tells me this little boy has very few friends, if any. My gut tells me his mother is the type of person who whispers to him "Don't play with that little girl, she's not very cute and her clothes are dirty." or "Don't go near that little boy, he stinks."
I doubt she knows what it could do to him, for him to hear "that little girl doesn't want to play with you" all the time. I doubt she knows she's most likely raising the next class-asshole, who is conceited and excluding, and won't deign to be friends with any children who don't live up to his mother's outlandish standards. I doubt she knows just how vital it is for children to play with their peers and develop social skills. Children who don't interact with their peers at a young age are the ones who have trouble making friends. Who have trouble functioning in social situations. Who look at other children and can only focus on the differences, or what's "wrong" with them.
My guess is she will be the mother who stresses the importance to her son that he has only friends who are impressive and popular.
Here is one thing I can say for certain, little boy; Emma will be your friend. I can tell already that this is part of her personality. She is eager to be friends with everyone, and I will do everything in my power to only nurture and grow that instinct. Even if you do end up as the class jerk, she will be a friend to you when you need one, even if you don't always deserve it.
If we do right by her as her parents, she will be the one who stands up to the bullies, and then takes them by the hand- for everyone knows they are often just hurting for friendship. She will be the one who is a friend to the stinky kid. She will be the one to kindly and discreetly whisper "Maybe you should take a bath tonight." not to embarrass them, but so they know they have a friend who cares. I will, if I have to, ingrain into her head that it is much more important to be kind and friendly than impressive and popular. But I doubt I'll have to. As much trouble as this girl gives me, she is by nature sweet and kind to everyone she encounters.
My heart sank. How? How was I going to explain to my darling Emma that this little boy's mother did not want him to play with her? Luckily, Emma is Emma, and I didn't have to. She was off and running again toward the big slide, like nothing had even happened. I'm grateful that she is so blissfully unaware of other people's nastiness. But the day will come when I will have to try to explain away someone else's cruelty. I will be prepared. I will be prepared to teach her that no matter how much of a jerk someone is to her or to anyone else, she can rise above it by being courageous and kind.
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