The memory of the expression on his face is what upsets me the most. Fear, confusion, astonishment.
A second where he nearly burst into tears. Then, he regained his composure, and tried to enjoy the rest of his – oh, the irony - treat.
There’s a café in our area my son loves. They have great cake. He begged to go there, with his grandma, to celebrate his birthday. There’s an activity that happens at this place, which means kids move around a bit, and the rules here were clear: even young children, unless sitting down, have to wear a mask. Fine.
My son remembered the first few times, but then, stood up and began walking away having forgotten to put his on.
I called out, but before he could even turn around, a waitress grabbed him roughly by the arm and yanked him back to our table. My six year old wasn’t the only one who was shocked. But there was lots going on, so the moment passed.
When we left my son said his arm hurt. Over the next few hours, an uncomfortable thought came slowly into focus, like a polaroid photo. I did not like that. I don’t think that was OK.
Is it ever acceptable for someone else to put their hands on your kid?
Unless they were about to step into the path of a speeding vehicle, I’d never grab even a child I knew well the way this stranger did my son. I’ve also never physically reprimanded Albie - I wouldn’t anyway, but I’ve never needed to.
People always remark on how well behaved he is, and I try to take the credit, but the truth is it has very little to do with me. I’m lucky, he just arrived like this – gentle, reasonable. But actually, why am I even saying that? If he’d been being a right little s**t would that have meant this woman’s behaviour was justified?
I accept this is an anxious time, generally, and particularly if you work inside now masks aren’t a legal requirement.
Obviously I’m British so making a scene goes against the grain, but at the same time I’m finding it hard to shake the feeling that I didn’t protect my son properly. Didn’t stand up for him.
However, she didn’t punch him to the ground and then kick him for good measure. And I didn’t want to get this waitress in trouble over what was probably a regrettable lapse on a stressed day… or allow her do this to anyone else.
Overreacting felt terrible, under-reacting even worse.
In the end, I called the café the next day, making a real effort to be calm. The owner apologised, said she’d speak to the waitress. I made it clear I wouldn’t be taking it any further.
I still don’t know whether I handled it correctly, I suppose I never will. But it’s left me feeling right now that anyone else who fancies their chances with my boy better be ready to pick on someone their own size first.
