I cannot think of a title to adequately express my horror.

It is pretty much an inevitability that your child will some day do or say something publicly that will make you want to crawl into the nearest hole, writhe in agony a bit, then die, inch by inch, the harrowing death that you deserve for allowing your child to remain ignorant long enough to have said or done something so irreversibly, horrifyingly mortifying. 

I think that was the longest sentence I’ve ever typed.

But seriously.

We were playing at the park, Tuesday, the two of us.  She wanted to swing, so I plopped her into one, and back and forth she went.  Soon, a little family arrived in their car.  The little boy noticed Olivia swinging and immediately asked to be put in one directly next to her.  His mother came over, just a couple feet from me, and began to swing her child. 

Olivia, in her childish curiosity, glanced at the mother, then asked me, full volume, “Why is she so big?”

Olivia has seen heavier people in her life, obviously.  She was just curious, not malicious; she had no clue that in our grown-up society, social mores clearly prohibit this type of question (with good reason!!!!).  And even though she said it in the exact tone that she might have used for, “Why is that dog brown?”, her words were hurtful.

This would be the point where I frantically searched for any convenient caves to huddle up in. 

I didn’t know what to say.  I felt like apologizing would just force the woman to publicly acknowledge that Olivia’s words were painful (and I’m sure they were).  With my stomach in my throat, I quickly tried to change the subject, “Hey!  Do you want to do the slides?  I’ll be an alligator that tries to chomp you up!”  But Olivia, never one to be thwarted, repeated, “But why is she so big?”

I really thought I might expire on the spot. 

I plucked her out of her swing with a, “Come on!  I’m going to eat you up if you don’t get onto the playground!”  And Olivia was successfully diverted.  Mere minutes later (they’d only just arrived), the mother packed up and left the park.  I don’t know for certain, but I’m pretty sure their departure was Olivia’s-mouth related.

At this point, I pulled Olivia aside and we had a conversation about how people come in all shapes, colors, and sizes.  How none of that really matters- what’s on the inside matters.  How we should love the people around us, no matter what.  And how sometimes, asking about why people are different than us, right in front of them, isn’t very polite because it can make them feel bad. 

(Although I have mixed feelings about that last sentence.  I want her to feel like she can ask me questions.  I don’t want her to get a sense of taboo surrounding differences in others, and I certainly want her forming opinions from the answers I can give her, rather than seeking information from her peers as she grows up.  You see?  It’s such a muddled, confusing situation!)

I wish I could have handled the situation better- with more tact.  I was just so horrified about the words coming out of her mouth that I wasn’t thinking clearly. 

If your child’s moment of “NO, WORLD, MY MOTHER HAS NOT TAUGHT ME BETTER!!!” hasn’t happened yet?  Rest assured, it’s coming.  (and probably even if you have taught them better.)  I’m sure this was just my first.