Go To Hell, Little Girl

Okay:

So, I took my daughter to the playground this weekend. Taking an only child to the playground is a bit of an ordeal. They kind of expect you to be their play partner.

Run across this bridge with me. Hold me while I swing across the monkey bars. Get on the see-saw.

It's not necessarily something I look forward to.

But she's crazy for it. And so, I oblige.

Then once she sees how tired, sweaty and disinterested I am, she demotes me to spectator.

"Look what I can do."

"Watch this, daddy."

I can't help but feel a little sorry for her though. Her daddy's a real stick in the mud. I'm too young to be this lethargic, I know. But I'm not very good at pretending.

So, I'm always happy to see other children arrive. Someone close to her age.

This past weekend I was in the middle of watching her slide sideways down the sliding board, which I am apparently supposed to be fascinated by, when two little white girls showed up.

Sisters. One smaller than my kid, the other taller.

The oldest one looked like trouble. A skinny little blond with ridiculously large ears. It looked as though a good tug could rip those things right off. They were afterthoughts, those ears. Like God had forgotten them and then slapped someone else's on at the last minute, paying no attention to symmetry or proportion.

I giggled quietly to myself.

I didn't like her walk either. Didn't like the way she ran over to our little area of the playground as if she were invited. Then she mispronounced my daughter's name, which kind of sealed the deal.

I did not like this kid.

They started playing around, running this way and that. I was relieved but still suspicious of the presumptuous blond. She seemed a bit bossy. Part of me wanted to tell my daughter, "If she gets too fresh, just lay in on those ears, man."

Next thing I knew, they were upon me. My daughter stood back and let her do the talking. "Excuse me, but would it be all right if she came to my house to play?"

"I don't think so," I said flatly. The nerve of this little girl. Who did she think she was? My kid wasn't going over anyone's house whose parents sent their kids to the playground unattended.

"Please," she begged.

"I'm sorry."

"I told you he was going to say no," my daughter said.

You're goddamn right, I thought.

They continued playing while the little one went home and returned a few minutes later with their mother and two bottles of water. I introduced myself and mentioned that the girls wanted to go to her house, but I didn't feel comfortable seeing as how we'd never met.

I tried to do the whole parent mingling thing, but I just wasn't in the mood. Plus, I was slowly discovering that I didn't like the mother either.

A weakling, she was. Those girls ran all over throwing things at one another. Any instructions she gave them were ignored.

"Don't throw that, honey" was immediately followed by the hurling of said item, just as far as their little peach arms could fling it. An abandoned pair of shoes. A toy car.

Then Big Ears came to me again. "We're going to go get ice cream. Can your daughter come?"

"Sure," I said. "We can all walk together."

"Do you have any money? Cuz, if not, my mother can pay for everyone."

"That won't be necessary," I said. My blood was boiling. Did we look poor? And even if we did, were we too poor to buy our own ice cream? I made a mental note to have a long conversation with my kid about the downside of having a sense of entitlement.

We walked to the market and everyone got ice cream. We were all sitting down on a sidewalk bench, enjoying the summer sun. Part of me was feeling bad for having judged the little girl so harshly. Then she began her interrogation.

"Where do you live?"

"Where's your mom?"

"Your dad's not married?"

My daughter, to her credit, answered candidly. "Sometimes I stay with my dad and sometimes I stay with my grandparents. I don't know where my mom is. My parents were never married. My dad's too young."

Finally, her mother injected, "Sorry, she's really curious about families."

The questioning went on. My daughter handled it with more patience, grace and composure than I ever could. I was clearly more uncomfortable than she was. And in an odd sort of way, I was proud. She seems to have a better grip on things than I would have given her credit for.

And, by the time they finished their ice cream, the two sisters were absolutely filthy. It was as though they had no regard for their clothing. They used their shirts as napkins and continued to ignore whatever redirection their mother offered.

My kid, however, kept clean as a whistle.

You're so much better than those kids, I thought. But I kept it to myself.


Thanks for reading.


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Factoid: My kid was in a piano recital this weekend and played beautifully. I am beaming with pride, as they say.