The photo above was taken at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens a few months back in springtime. These huts of twigs were hauntingly beautiful. From the distance, LPP and I could see children running freely in and out of the archways and it looked inviting, if still a bit ominous. We ventured towards the huts and just as we arrived, there was a group of four children running away. LPP, being playful and social by nature, started to run with the kids. The two smallest children of the group, a boy and a girl, engaged LPP in a game of tag and began to run faster to encourage LPP to chase them. They were a bit older than LPP, about 7 or 8 years old, I think. I lagged a little behind and I overheard LPP tell the girl, "No, I am not trying to catch you, I am trying to catch HER," pointing to the boy, who LPP obviously thought was a girl. The boy's hair was a little bit long. Everyone stopped running immediately, as if a DJ had abruptly stopped a record and you could hear the proverbial needle scratch. The little girl shouted mockingly while pointing to her brother, "THAT'S A HIM, NOT A HER!" The oldest of the children, a girl sitting cross-legged on the grass and fiddling with her long hair, about 10 or 11 years old, jumped right on the bandwagon with her jeering, and suddenly all the children were laughing at my LPP, who just stood there in the middle, surrounded by these awful kids. It was like a scene right out of Lord Of The Flies. They kept snickering and repeating, "That's a HIM, not a HER!" and "He's a boy!" And then the boy in question, who was more than a head taller than my LPP, circled around LPP, bent his leg and KNEED my LPP in the lower back! OKAY, wanna talk about a record scratching?!! Before I knew it, I could hear my loud voice coming out of my mouth, "HEY, don't do that! He's my son. Don't kick my son!" The children were startled because they hadn't registered my presence in the vicinity, or any adult presence for that matter. I wanted to tell the boy to get a haircut and maybe there'd be less confusion, but I didn't think that would be appropriate, model behavior. Instead, I told them that LPP was only 3 years old and he was tall for his age, "what is wrong with you?!?" (I didn't actually ask them that, but it was implied). The boy and the oldest girl both said, "He's only 3?" as if a light bulb went off, and trying to ride what I perceived to be an empathetic wave, I said, "Yes. He didn't know that he was a boy." And then the oldest girl, still flicking her hair, and not bothering to stand up, said, "Wow, he's tall for his age," and started laughing again, as if this was the funniest thing since kittens playing piano on YouTube. Which of course encouraged her three siblings to do the same. During all of this, LPP looked stunned and sad, like when you discover that something or someone you think the world of is actually pretty crummy. I don't think it had ever entered his mind that new kids would be actively and physically MEAN. It was heartbreaking. I grabbed my son and said in a loud voice as we - okay, as I was storming away with LPP in tow, "Come on, let's go. These kids are not very nice kids. They are very mean!" The daggers were flying from the eyes in the back of my head.
LPP and I went back into the center of the twig huts and LPP was over the entire garden visit. "Let's go Mommy," he said, holding his stroller and frowning. I just wanted to scoop him up and let him know it was going to be alright. I said, "Okay, let's go," and I strolled him away.
And then I was torn between whether it was right to intervene, or whether it was a matter of "kids will be kids." I was afraid that my display of outrage, calling the children "mean kids", in front of LPP made a mountain out of a molehill. I think he may have been just as startled by my angry and vocal reaction as he was by the initial kick in the back. I found myself backpedalling a bit, and I explained to LPP that not all kids are mean, in fact, most children are very nice and friendly, but these kids were just plain mean. He remained silent, every once in a while interrupting the wild spinning wheel of thoughts in my head with a "Let's get out of here," and "Is this the way out?" And then I saw the kids not too far ahead of me. One of them spotted me and alerted the others and off they ran. And the fuse was lit again, the heat of fury rising inside my entire being, and I decided these kids are older than LPP and should know better and YES, I was right to scold them; kids will be kids who don't kick my kid, thank you very much. It wasn't like this was a matter of another 3 year-old kneeing my 3 year-old. I set out on a personal mission to find out who they belonged to.
Luckily, one of the children was wearing a bright, colorful shirt that made following the group pretty easy. They traveled far, blissfully ignorant of my stealth tracking. I was so angry, the deafening pounding of blood in my ears made it hard to concentrate on LPP's continued queries about whether we were nearing the exit. I assured him we were and kept my eyes on the offending kids. Finally, they settled down around a couple sitting under a tree far in the distance.
Now that I knew who they belonged to, I wondered exactly what I was supposed to say to the parents. And if it was even worth it. K was on a subway and unreachable by phone. After consulting with my Mom on the phone, who supported my doing whatever would make me feel better, I hung up with a new and calmer resolve. And I hitched the stroller over the gorgeous spring grass and made a beeline straight for the tree sheltering the rowdy kids and their parents. As I got closer, I understood fully why the kids were allowed to stray so far from the parents: the parents looked EXHAUSTED. They were both sitting cross-legged, with study books for some standardized tests in front of them. This may have been their only respite, to sit in the gardens, on a free-admission day, under a tree and let their four children roam free, giving them some peace to study. I felt a bit of sympathy for them. But I was still angry.
Finally, at just about 20 feet away, the youngest girl, who was standing behind her mother, looked up and saw me. And the look of pure terror and surprise on that girl's face made all my mental tossing and turning and relentless pursuit totally worth it. It was simply priceless. In a panic, she tried to alert her brother, the "kicker", but it was too late. I was now standing in front of the parents. They both looked up at me. When I arrived, the children and the parents were speaking in an Asian language, and not wanting to assume the parents' level of English fluency, I made sure I spoke slowly and clearly. I introduced myself and LPP by name and the mother politely smiled. And then I watched her smile slowly fade as I explained that my son is only 3 years old and her son kneed my son in the back, pantomiming with my own knee, just to be sure nothing was lost in translation. The mother translated this all to the father, who then presumably asked his son if this was true. The son put his head down. The mother joined in with the father. Then the parents both apologized to me in English on behalf of their son. The father continued to speak to his son in his native language, and his son gave a little smile, and I began to suspect that perhaps the son wasn't getting the reprimand I had hoped for. And just a part of me felt perhaps a little exposed, maybe a little over-dramatic, because now that I had told the parents and received the apology, I wasn't sure what else I wanted them to take from my confrontation. I ended a bit anticlimactically with something like, "I know they are just kids, but I wanted you to know and maybe your son shouldn't kick other children." I honestly don't remember now. At any rate, mission accomplished, I strolled LPP straight out of the Botanical Gardens.
My brief moment of triumph was followed by complete anxiety that perhaps LPP wasn't going to want to play with other children anymore. And so, in part for LPP, but also in part to assuage my own fears, I took LPP to a playground adjacent to the gardens. At first, he stayed a bit to himself. He climbed up the stairs of the sliding board only to be confronted by two children blocking the way. I immediately stepped in, feeling manic, to make sure nothing went awry, and LPP decided to give a climbing structure across the way a go instead. And before long, he was happily playing with another boy about his age, running back and forth, making up rules as they went along, the boy's golden tresses blowing in the wind. And then, without a farewell or a warning, the boy was suddenly gone, on his way home with his Mommy. LPP looked all around for him, and finally asked me, "Mommy, where did that girl go?" I didn't have the heart to tell him that SHE was a boy.
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