Thanks to Crow for this post's title.
Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later... that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called Being a Father so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life.-Tom Wolfe, The Bonfire of the Vanities
On nearly every Monday I have a half-day at work so I can come home and spend time with Max. It gives Grandpa Mundle a well-deserved break; more importantly, it allows me the time to spend with Max so we can bond. We love spending time with mommy, but it's important to have daddy-son time, too.
Today we went to Chipotle near the Park Place Mall for some lunch before setting off for the Children's Play Area in the food court. Now I have to say, I'm usually a little high-strung when Max is in this type of environment. Most of them are bigger than he is, and I worry about him getting trampled by some of the roughhousing boys.
Max is a social butterfly though, and it didn't take long for him to meet a fellow kid. This little girl (5 or 6 years old), immediately approached Max (who at this point was about 10 feet from me). I thought, "how nice" until the young lady roared at the top of her lungs, right in my baby's face. Maxwell turned to me and put his hand in his mouth as his eyes began to well up with tears. I scooped him up and told the apparently remorseful girl that it was okay - maybe she just didn't know how to play with children younger than she was.
But when I observed this little girl, I noticed that she exhibited aggressive behavior with other young kids. I sawthat her parents were not remotely bothered by her antisocial behavior - they were more interested in their Cinnabon, I guess. Later on, Max and the little girl met again.
"Boo!", she said.
Okay, I thought. Now she's playing nicely. "Make sure not to scream in his face, okay? Babies don't like that."
At that point, the little girl frowned, turned to Max and screamed in his face at the top of her lungs. I turn to the parents - no reaction.
It is at this point that I should mention that I have low tolerance for screaming in general, and things that upset/bother/perturb my son in particular. With a couple mommies and children looking on, I decided that I must set a precedent.
"OKAY. Go AWAY and play with OTHER children because you are NOT PLAYING NICE with my son."
This was met with a blank stare.
"I mean it. Go play with children who like being screamed at. Over there. SHOO."
The girl left. She didn't cry; this made me wonder if the lesson was taught after all, but I left her alone. Later she approached the structure that Max was playing on and he touched her hand.
"Your baby just hit me!", she said.
"NO HE DIDN'T." I had half a mind to take her to task for her obvious lies, but I thought it would be better to leave.
On a previous Monday, a lady asked me how fatherhood had changed me as a person. I explained to her that before I became a father, I felt like I would be able to kill for my child. Once Max was born, I knew I could. It might be a weird sentiment to explain, but it's true - the level of protectivenes I feel is almost scary sometimes. Of course I would never want a child to get hurt or anything like that - but this kind of situation reminds me of just how protective I am.
Nobody is going to screw with my kid, 6-year-old girl or otherwise. I don't care that I'm crazy.