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Share The Rod and Soil the Child

To all you parents who bring your kids to the park and then relax while your chip-off-the-old-block runs amok in the play area: Please invest the dollar ninety eight in a plastic pail-and-shovel set, so that your little search-and-destroy unit will not be overcome with greed and envy at the sight of Emma's pail and shovel, and therefore will not feel compelled to seize them by force.

Honestly, you'd think these kids never saw a pail and shovel before, or that the idea of actually bringing them to large sand-filled play area was somehow revolutionary. v
The other day Emma and I were sitting there making sand cakes, when a little guy about her age careened over, and, surveying the scene, declared everything in his field of vision as his own personal property by uttering the magic word "Guh." He then demonstrated the New Order by yanking Emma's shovel out of her hand and whacking her with it.

OK, maybe he didn't really whack her; maybe he got excited with the shovel in his hand and was making an exuberant gesture with an unfortunate result. You have to give these little ones the benefit of the doubt. The whole time, Emma is giving me that Look, the one that says, "You told me to share so I am sharing, and now I have been whacked on the head, so am I missing something or are you a total idiot?"

Then the parent arrives on the scene, and guess what? It's another dad! Full-timer or just slumming, I can't tell. He apologizes profusely (although not enough) and speaks for his son, asking if they can share our toys. Emma is shaking her head like she's in a cloud of gnats but I speak for her and say "Sure."

Then she really gives me the Look. v
The little boy sits down next to her and scoops some sand with the shovel, and for a split second I enjoy the delusion that these kids will just play. But no, he suffers from SCD, Sand Control Disorder, which causes him to jerk suddenly as if he had been stung by a wasp (no such luck) and fling the sand at the nearest human face, which would be Emma's.

Sand in the eyes, sand in the mouth ð it wasn't a good situation. And this dad is droning on in his best Mister Rogers voice about playing nice, while the kid, with that horrible gleam in his eye, is already digging another load and taking aim.

Since his dad wasn't going to intervene, I put my hand on the shovel (you have to be mindful of putting your hands on other people's kids) and said something profound like "Hey, man ð" The other dad took the hint and scooped his kid up to go have a Talk.

Since then, when we head for the park, Emma looks me in the eye and intones, "I WON'T share my toys." I'm trying to restore her faith in humankind, but I know better than to rush it.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.