The Swat Heard ‘Round the Playground

The very serious post I wrote last Friday reminded me of another incident that happened at that very same playground- coincidentally, it even tied in with the post’s topic.

That particular playdate that I wrote about was planned so that Punky could see one of her classmates during spring break. At the appointed time, we met up with the classmate and her younger sister, along with their young next-door neighbor and her mom. The four girls began playing and seemed to be getting along well, and after watching them for a few moments, I began chit-chatting with their moms in the slightly awkward getting-to-know-you way that moms thrown into that kind of situation do.

Yes, it was just an ordinary playdate– at least until my daughter ran up to the neighbor’s mom with a grave look on her face.

“Lily’s mom?” she said solemnly.

“Yes?” the mom said, surprised.

“Your daughter just touched me on my private parts.”

Now, let’s just pause right here.

Is this not one of the most horrifying statements you could possibly hear from another child about your own?

Is this not a TOTAL worst-nightmare scenario?

Do these nine little words not immediately bring to mind visions of Child Protective Service investigations, court hearings, psychiactric evaluations, and mental hospital stays?

I saw all of these thoughts and more run across the woman’s face as she turned pale and attempted to sputter out a response.

“I…uh. What? Well, I… Um, er I…”

“Punky,” I interrupted, “Where did she touch you?”

“She hit me on my bum!” Punky said indignantly. “She told me to hurry up when I was climbing up the slide, and she smacked me on my bum, like that!” Punky mimed a swat.

“Well,” the mother said breathlessly, “We certainly do not allow that in our home.”

“Punky,” I said, kneeling down. “It’s okay. Lily didn’t mean anything by it. But thank you for telling us about it. It’s important that you say something to an adult when you feel uncomfortable.” Punky gave me a dubious look and ran back to the playground.

Now it was my turn to be embarrassed. “I uh, guess I’ve taught my daughter well,” I said.  I laughed weakly, but the other mom was clearly rattled.

“Well, we do not tolerate that kind of behavior,” she said primly. She shot a quick look over at the classmate’s mom, as if trying to surreptitiously gauge whether  this story was going to spread like wildfire the next day at their subdivision pool. “It has never happened before,” she vowed, “and it will never happen again. I will have a talk with Lily as soon as we leave.”

“Oh please don’t worry about it,” I said. But it was no use. Lily had been publicly called out as a potential molester, and her mother may well never recover.

Suffice it to say, I don’t worry too much about my daughter reporting any strange activity to me, should it occur.

I do, however, worry about poor Lily and her mother.

Yikes.

Image via higetiger/Flickr