Ben Martin thinks about the awkwardness of correcting other people’s kids – and his hesitancy to accept other parents correcting his own.
What’s the deal with Other People’s Kids (and by “Other People” I mean people who aren’t you or me)? Well, obviously, they aren’t as cute as our kids. Plus, they’re usually not nearly as well-behaved. I’ve also noticed that when my kids (and yours, too, of course) mess up or misbehave it’s really just a deviation from their norm rather than a reflection of their deeper character. Other People’s Kids, of course, are displaying their true colors. Evil colors. How do all these Other People deal with such evil little kids?
My kids (who, like yours, are angelic nearly 100% of the time, I promise) were at the park recently. There was also a good sized group of Other People’s Kids there. Kids being what they are, a game broke out. It was a sword fighting, swashbuckling adventure type of game that relied heavily on the use of plastic light sabers. I think it was a mash-up of Star Wars, Pirates of the Caribbean, and total chaos. There may also have been a hint of Lord of the Flies.
One kid in particular, who I know to be a 3rd grader, was really into the sword fighting part. Really into it. He was raining down holy, plastic, light-saberized terror: two hands held high, white-knuckled, swing-it-so-hard-the-sword-bends-itself-around-the-sword-of-the-defender style play.
And wouldn’t you know it, he was going after my daughter because it also turns out there was a boys vs. girls element to the game. My daughter was backing away—just holding her light saber up in front of her and flinching with every blow. That’s where my dilemma was. If it had been her swinging away like that at some Other Person’s Kid, I’d have stepped in immediately. But Other People’s Kids are different. I didn’t want to embarrass her by stepping in to her game (I wasn’t sure how invested she was in it). I didn’t want to upset the Other Kid’s Parents (wherever they were). I also didn’t want to be the over-reactive, overprotective parent.
Mostly, though, I just don’t feel like I’ve got the authority to correct Other People’s Kids. Of course, in the example above, I had a stake in monitoring the game inasmuch as I’m going to keep my daughter safe. But she wasn’t crying out for help or looking frantically around to find me either. Also, it wasn’t a real light saber, so that reduced the urgency a bit. My daughter is an independent sort who prefers to take care of herself when she can. Which she did. By dropping her sword and walking away to play another game.
That was my signal that she wasn’t invested enough in playing that she needed me to stay out of it. The boy picked up her sword and, holding it victoriously over his head ran back toward the boys’ base camp. Only he happened to go right by me, so I snatched up the sword and said, “Looks like she’s done with the game, so I’ll hang on to this.”
He looked completely shocked and said, “But I won it.”
“I know, but this is my daughter’s sword and I think she’s done with the game.”
If there’s a word for slightly confused and slightly crestfallen at the same time, then that’s what he looked like. And I looked like the word that describes someone who feels like they just took a toy from someone else’s kid on the playground. Sheepish? Ashamed? Embarrassed? Furtive? Interactions with Other People’s Kids are always so awkward. I wanted to tell him he needed to cool it down a bit, but I didn’t. Look, I’m just telling you what I did, not saying it was the right thing to do…
This raises a question that I really don’t know the answer to: When, as a parent, is it appropriate to intervene with Other People’s Kids? Of course, if something is putting any child into immediate physical danger we all have a duty to intervene – often legally and always ethically. But what about for little things? Playground disagreements and the like.
I often hear people saying “it takes a village,” but how much village do we really want? Here’s the crux of the matter. When it comes to the village, we are the village for Other People’s Kids and Other People are the village for our kids. When you and I are the village, helping keep Other People’s Kids in line, our morals and methods are spot on, of course! I’m just not so sure about all the Other villagers’ morals and methods.
The logical outcome of this is that you and I can intervene in ways we feel are appropriate when other people’s kids aren’t acting up to snuff, while other people (the grandparent who’s been sitting and reading on the bench near where our kids are playing; that mom who’s been talking to her friend by the play structure for the last half hour; that guy at the park wearing the Budweiser t-shirt who’s playing soccer with the kids, one of whom you hope is his), well, they need to come and ask us permission before they interact with our kids because, you know, stranger danger and all.
Here’s the part that really weirds me out: my kids, and yours, too, are “other people’s kids” to everybody out there who isn’t us. I hope responsible parents who share all of my values will kindly and gently correct my kids if they’re being overly-aggressive or are otherwise misbehaving and I’m not aware enough to intervene myself. I hate to imagine that, when I’m not looking, my kids might be bullies, or even just thoughtless. I also hate to imagine that some stranger might imagine it’s okay to discipline one of my kids in a way I wouldn’t or correct them for doing something I think is perfectly acceptable.
On reflection, my guess is that the sword wielding Other Person’s Kid at the park isn’t actually a bully. He’s probably just a decent 8 year old boy who got a little carried away with a game involving plastic weaponry. His parents are likely to know what a sweet kid he can be. Most likely, they weren’t hovering over their son because they’ve raised him right and feel they can trust him to be good. They’re probably just like you and me that way.
Photo: Clairity / flickr