A Fine, Fine Line

Yesterday after the gym, I threw in the mom towel.

Too many days of having two kids alone in sweltering heat and pouring rain meant we all needed a play break. So I headed to that bastion of all things American and good...a fast food joint with an indoor playground.

My son decided he didn't want to eat any "junk food" and just ordered a drink. I believe that may qualify as an actual miracle. He sat quietly while his sister finished her lunch and then they were off.

That playground was rocking. There was another family there with a bunch of kids of different ages. My kids asked if they could play with them, and a raucous game of hide-and-seek ensued.

I sat at a table just outside the glass and sipped my Diet Coke. I occasionally stepped inside the play structure to implore my son to "please stop screeching!" as he is prone to do. But all in all, they seemed like they were holding their own.

Another family arrived with a three-year-old little girl. She was hesitant to enter the fish bowl of screaming children, and with good reason if you ask me. She worked up her courage and joined in the fray but kept popping out every few minutes to exclaim that she had been pushed, hit, or assaulted.

She wasn't accusing my kids and her own family made excuses, so I let it go. But I also started cleaning up and giving the kids a warning that it would be time to leave soon. Mommy can only take so much.

My kids left happily and even thanked me for taking them. Okay, that's not a miracle, but it made me feel pretty good.

That evening while my son was taking a bath I noticed a red mark on his back. Then a noticed a huge red mark on his thigh.

"What happened?" I asked him.

"That boy today kicked me," he informed me.

"What? Who kicked you? How did that happen?"

He went on to tell me that an older boy had come up behind him and kicked him in the back. He fell hard and got the raspberry on his leg.

"And what did you do?" I asked him.

"I was gonna tell him that was bad and not to do that, but you said it was time to leave," he explained.

I must admit I was livid.

My kids are always the kickees and never the kickers. They're always getting hit and never hitting back. Are they destined to get beat up for the rest of their lives?

When my daughter was younger, she was what I would call a prime victim. She was quick to trust, quick to cry, and put on such a dramatic show. She was a bully's dream.

But my son? I always thought he could stand up for himself. I never expected him to hit or kick back. That doesn't jive with our moral code. But he has a sort of presence and a deep belief in his own self-worth that I thought would serve him well.

He's roleplayed the victim/bully scenario with us a hundred times because we had to go through it with his sister. There was a time when we feared she would be really injured so we taught her "The Defensive Move" suggested to us by our dear Kindergarten teacher friend.

I think there is a fine, fine line between having a kid who will stick up for himself, and having a kid who can get violent. There's a fine, fine line between using words and attitudes to defend yourself and striking back to protect yourself. It's too fine of a line for a five-year-old to tread.

My father once told me that when you raise really well-behaved kids you put them at a certain disadvantage. He said that most kids are awful and from time to time, your good kids will be victimized because of it. But my dad was a cop and saw the world through jaded eyes. I only half believed him.

I should have whole believed that little three-year-old girl yesterday though.

There is a fine, fine line between protecting your kids and letting them make their own way in the big, bad world. It's almost too fine a line for a world-weary mom to tread.