I took my kids to the Walmarts nearby in order to buy not one, not two, but three birthday presents for my second son's friends, all of whom are celebrating their birthdays over the next three or four days. This wasn't a big deal, save that we were 1) in Walmart and 2) I forgot my wallet in the car, necessitating hauling all of the kids from the toys section (which, in case you were wondering, yes, my four year old was sobbing as we left because I wouldn't buy him a Spider-Man glove) and back out to the pinnacle of suburban success, the minivan.
Wallet obtained, I trekked back into the store, reclaimed the birthday presents, bought the kids some over-sugared, under-nutritioned drinks, and headed out to the parking lot. As we walked, I teased my oldest about running into a sign, and pretended to be a bee, buzzing and stinging him. We marched along, everyone holding someone's hand, and arrived safely at the car.
The boys piled in, I distributed the drinks, and then I went to climb into the van. Before I could get inside, however, a woman's voice said, "Excuse me, sir?"
Confused but willing to help, I turned to face the lady. She seemed nice--a little round, blonde, with a nose stud and wearing a black tank top. She held a little girl by the hand. "Yes?" I asked.
"I don't know how else to say this, so I'm just going to come out and say it: Did you punch your son?"
I was taken aback. I didn't know what she was talking about. I tried to replay the uneventful journey from the sliding glass doors to now, but aside from the aforementioned teasing, I couldn't think of what she may have mistakenly seen.
We went back and forth, her obviously not buying my honest, confused denials that I abuse my children. I assured her that wasn't the case, my boys were safe, and thanked her for her concern. I smiled and bade her goodbye.
Naturally enough, the boys wanted to know what the conversation was about. I explained, and my oldest quipped, "It's a surprise you didn't hit us," or something along those lines. I quickly corrected him that she thought she had seen me hit him the way he hits his brothers. That quieted him down, but it worried me. What if she'd asked my son if I hit him? In our family, we wrestle and teasingly smack each other. It's never in an abusive way (though that always sounds like a thin excuse, I know). We're playful, and though I have spanked my children, it's not something I advocate or am proud about. But punching him? Like, assaulting my kids? That's ridiculous.
But my boys don't really know how vicious people can be. For the most part, we live a very safe, sheltered life. They don't realize that when an adult asks if their parents hit them, they mean abuse them, hurt them. So if someone asked my kids that question, they would answer honestly, but it would lack the context of what is meant.
The lady went away, unconvinced, and I've been thinking of it off and on throughout the rest of the day. It reminded me that I have to be very careful, not only about what I show other people, but what it means to be in a society where we need to be vigilant against real violence--and how powerless we are in the face of it. The lady could not have done anything if I really were abusive, at least not by confronting me in the parking lot. She knew that, but she stepped up and hoped to right a perceived (and, as it turned out, nonexistent) wrong. But I'm impressed by her willingness to confront someone she thought behaved that way. That took a lot of bravery. Would that more people were as brave as she.
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| Not my actual car, but it gives a sense. Source |
The boys piled in, I distributed the drinks, and then I went to climb into the van. Before I could get inside, however, a woman's voice said, "Excuse me, sir?"
Confused but willing to help, I turned to face the lady. She seemed nice--a little round, blonde, with a nose stud and wearing a black tank top. She held a little girl by the hand. "Yes?" I asked.
"I don't know how else to say this, so I'm just going to come out and say it: Did you punch your son?"
I was taken aback. I didn't know what she was talking about. I tried to replay the uneventful journey from the sliding glass doors to now, but aside from the aforementioned teasing, I couldn't think of what she may have mistakenly seen.
We went back and forth, her obviously not buying my honest, confused denials that I abuse my children. I assured her that wasn't the case, my boys were safe, and thanked her for her concern. I smiled and bade her goodbye.
Naturally enough, the boys wanted to know what the conversation was about. I explained, and my oldest quipped, "It's a surprise you didn't hit us," or something along those lines. I quickly corrected him that she thought she had seen me hit him the way he hits his brothers. That quieted him down, but it worried me. What if she'd asked my son if I hit him? In our family, we wrestle and teasingly smack each other. It's never in an abusive way (though that always sounds like a thin excuse, I know). We're playful, and though I have spanked my children, it's not something I advocate or am proud about. But punching him? Like, assaulting my kids? That's ridiculous.
But my boys don't really know how vicious people can be. For the most part, we live a very safe, sheltered life. They don't realize that when an adult asks if their parents hit them, they mean abuse them, hurt them. So if someone asked my kids that question, they would answer honestly, but it would lack the context of what is meant.
The lady went away, unconvinced, and I've been thinking of it off and on throughout the rest of the day. It reminded me that I have to be very careful, not only about what I show other people, but what it means to be in a society where we need to be vigilant against real violence--and how powerless we are in the face of it. The lady could not have done anything if I really were abusive, at least not by confronting me in the parking lot. She knew that, but she stepped up and hoped to right a perceived (and, as it turned out, nonexistent) wrong. But I'm impressed by her willingness to confront someone she thought behaved that way. That took a lot of bravery. Would that more people were as brave as she.