Today started out as an ordinary autumn afternoon marked by temperatures in the high 80’s. I knew it would be one of the last warm evenings so I packed my beach bag, rallied my girls and headed to one of the 16 pools in our planned community. We decided on our favorite clubhouse pool. It was our own resort style pool and spa, lined with oversized palm trees and crimson umbrellas. I found my spot at the deep end, positioned myself where I could see the girls, and still be far enough away form all of the activity. A father and his 5 year old daughter, and I’m guessing 8ish year old son were throwing a ball and playing. I’m not sure why I locked in on them initially other than that they were close in proximity, and I like to people watch. I noticed the boy threw the ball to his dad, and it hit him in his head. The man seemed angry and was holding his head as though he had been hit by a brick rather than a plastic beach ball. I looked on as the man “recovered” and continued playing with his kids. I only knew his daughter was 5 because his kids were squabbling, and I heard the father admonish his son and remarking that his sister was only 5. As they were getting ready to leave, the father announced that they would go home and have dinner and a movie night. When his son responded with disappointment, this seemed to be the last straw.

As I was looking down at my crossword puzzle, I heard things escalate in what felt like a hot minute. The father, raising his voice began ranting. “Do you think I wanted to go to your football game Saturday, or the two on Sunday? I didn’t fucking want to spend the whole weekend at your fucking games. Do you think I want to get up at fucking 5:00 AM everyday and drive two cities away to go to work? You little asshole. You little prick!” At this point my stomach began to lurch, and I was physically shaking. He continued repeating to his 8 year old;

“You little asshole. You little prick.”

“You little asshole. You little prick.”

“You little asshole. You little prick.”

I’m not sure how many times, but it was several. My whole face was hot and had a heartbeat of it’s own. The little boy climbed out of the pool-shoulders crumpled, eyes glossy, face down. I sat there for what felt like an eternity feeling sick and heartbroken. I made my way over to this beautiful little toe head, crouched down, put my hand on his shoulder, and looked into his sad little hazel eyes, and I said

“You are not an asshole, and you are not a prick. You are precious. You are perfect. Your dad is wrong this time.” I stared in his eyes until he nodded back. Then I made my way over to his dad who was drying off. I asked his little girl to go stand with her brother while I had a word with her dad. At this point, my heart was pounding, and all 5 feet of me was shaking as I looked up to this grown man who was a foot taller than me and at least 100 lbs. larger. I asked if we could talk for just a minute. I told him that I was not a perfect parent, in fact I am far from it. I said I lose my temper, and even drop f-bombs sometimes, but…

Your son is precious. He is not an asshole or a prick, and calling him names like that is so damaging. I told him that I knew first hand because I am a grown woman, and I am still healing from the trauma of my childhood.

Initially he was very angry and told me it was none of my business, and that I had no idea how they behaved at home. I reassured him that he was right that it was none of my business. I also told him that I could not stand by and not say anything as he called his precious son names. I repeated that I was not a perfect parent. I shared how difficult my own daughter could be as she has emotional dysregulation. He calmed down, but then he said that they needed to be spoken to like that , and didn’t I agree? I felt myself shaking my head back and forth, back and forth. I said I absolutely do not think that is what they need. What they need are boundaries, discipline and consequences. When you call your son and asshole and a prick he believes you. What you say not only matters, it is the single most important thing he hears. He actually shook my hand when I left and said thank you. I don’t highlight this to pat myself on the back, but rather to illustrate how his demeanor changed when he felt that I was acting out of love and compassion. Words Matter