When doing the right thing can still feel wrong.

I am still trying to convince myself that taking a man’s head and bashing it in to the table where he was sitting was definitely not the better option. Although when I imagine myself actually doing it, I feel strong, and powerful, and well within my right. After all, he terrified my 7 year old by grabbing his sweatshirt in anger and yelling at him. That man should have had the same done to him and more, but instead I quickly interceded and got between this coward and my child and diffused what would have, could have, even should have gotten much more intense. Here’s the story: After the final performance of Fiddler on the Roof, my middle son and his cast mates decided to descend upon a local restaurant. Of course, the other patrons were slightly annoyed at the energetic crowd of young ones, but most were understanding. They were kids after all. My youngest, always wanting to be in the middle of the action, was excited to be able to hang with the actors. His seat was tucked in a corner near another table that was pushed very closely to the kids’ table. I am able to understand the man’s frustration as my son moved in and out of his seat and bumped in to him more than once, but at no point did that man have any right to put his hand on my kid. NO POINT AT ALL! I stayed calm, mostly because I was in shock, but I got low in the man’s ear and made it very clear that I understood why he was angry, but that you don’t ever touch a child, especially one that’s not your own. I then grabbed my now hysterical son, and as my tears of anger started to flow, we fled. I know I did the right thing because there was a table of 15 kids watching this interaction.  I know if I had done what my fantasy butt-kicking mom wanted to do, I would have scarred these children’s memories, permanently. I know I did the right thing, because if I had yelled and screamed at this man, who clearly has no kids of his own, there is no telling what he would have done in return. I know I did the right thing because as my little one and I walked home, my son was able to go into his fantasy butt-kicking 7 year old head and talk about how he would have punched the guy hard if he could have. I know I did the right thing because when I kissed my boy goodnight and told him I loved him, he replied that he loved me more and that he always would. There’s nothing more right than that! And that guy, who left with his pal after his lunch was interrupted by a group of talented, sweet, innocent kids, yeah that guy, he will never be loved more, and I can see the wrong in that and yet still, it somehow feels right.

Stay well.

By | 2018-04-07T23:24:18-04:00 March 31st, 2014|Life|0 Comments

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