I was chatting with Joanie this morning and for whatever reason, our conversation drifted around to little children and their antics: good and bad. I had to confess the two instances whereupon I probably scarred two little boys for life. I did. On purpose. Although neither, I admit, were my shining moments.
Episode One: Kidlet, age three/four was afraid of the dark. One of the little boys in daycare delighted in nothing better than shoving her in the outdoor bathroom, turning off the light, slamming said door closed and leaning against it to prevent my now hysterically crying child from escaping. Grrrr. This went on for several days in a row, as reported by a very tearful and hiccuping Kidlet, when I picked her up. A couple of days later, I was running a little early and the whole gang was out back playing. No Kidlet in sight but I could hear her screams. The little monster child had done it again. I released my child, bent down to the culprit, picked him up under his little armpits, looked him straight in the eye and told him if he ever locked Kidlet in the dark again, I was going to send the boogie man over to his house to gobble him up in the middle of the night. I never raised my voice and calmly set him down. He never bothered Kidlet again.
The star of the Episode Two, was Biter Boy. This kid, age 3 ish, was a nondenominational biter. He bit every kid in sight. After he bit Kidlet the first time, I went in and complained to the head of the school. The second time I told her I was not paying all that money to have my child munched on. Fix it. The third time, I cornered Biter Boy, knelt down to his level and told him calmly that if he ever bit Kidlet again, his teeth were going to turn black, fall out and he would never be able to eat again. Kidlet was immediately taken off on his menu.
When I think back on it, I probably could have handled things a bit more diplomatically but we're talking about my Kidlet and there isn't too much I wouldn't do to protect her. However I do apologize if either lad now spends hours on a couch paying some therapist for inordinate stress relative to boogie men and rotting teeth.
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