Punks on the Playground

Sure, some things only happen to the best of us. However, most of life’s poo-poo seems to hit us all.

When we are little ladies and gentlemen in training, before we have acquired the social graces that make life easier to maneuver, and until we can give the school of hard knocks the finger, we certainly take a lot of …ahem, poo.

And for the preschool, potty training set, mommies all around the world can tell passionate stories of their little angel getting picked at, pestered, …ok; let’s just say ‘punked’ on the playground.

I recently witnessed Hayes’s first such encounter and I can say he handled it like a mature 2 year old. I, on the other hand, turned into someone I hardly recognized.

That day, I took a seat on a nearby bench to watch Hayes climb the jungle gym. He made his way quickly up the stairs, around the bends and was headed straight for the bridge that would take him to the big tunnel where he likes to scream and giggle infectiously at either real or imaginary people chasers, whoever happens to be there when he shows up.

But the journey was interrupted at the bridge where a little boy and his younger sister stood blocking the entrance. Hayes slowed to a stop and said something to the pair—probably “excuse me,” because he’s that kind of kid—to which the little boy replied “no” and pushed him.

I was off of the bench before Hayes turned around with tears in his eyes to tell me what happened.

After a few good attempts to smooth things over, I quickly found out that Little Punk and his younger punk sister meant business. They weren’t letting Hayes past them. And what’s worse, they weren’t the least bit affected by mama me.

They were the two punkiest punks I had ever encountered. And I must admit, the thought of roughing them up {just enough to put the fear in them} did cross my mind. I scanned the park benches for their mother. She sat in a far off corner looking exhausted. Sometimes it takes a mother to recognize another mother’s weariness. And the mother of these particular punks looked to me like she was not having it today.

A smirk slowly grew across my face. “Move it now or I’m going to get your mother,” I threatened. And the little punk and his punky younger sister stepped aside to let Hayes pass.

I followed Hayes to the tunnel. And as he reached the landing, he let out a screech at the thought of me chasing him. I planned to join the fun once I made one thing perfectly clear.

Suddenly, I stopped my happy, giggling child, who was blissfully enjoying the moment, looked him square in the eye and said, “Listen, if that little punk touches you again, push the poo out of him! Do you understand?”