Parenting IS A Job Title!

I was with my kids (my son, five, who has special needs, and my girl, a year and a half) wasting time looking at books at a large box store when a lady struck up a conversation. I’m a chatty southerner, so I engaged in the conversation.

During the chat, she asked me how I got my job.

Me: “My job?”

I’m curious, because I hadn’t told her I was a nurse.

Me: “Oh, I went to school for it and then took boards.”

Lady: “Oh, did you go for special education?”

Me: “Uh, no, nursing. Why do you ask?”

There would be no way she knew I was a nurse.

Lady: “Oh, I was wondering how I get a gig like this.” *Gestures to my kids.*

Me: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lady: “Well, I want to take care of r*****ed kids so I can keep my grand baby with me. What company do you work for?”

Me: “What do you mean, r*****ed kids? And taking care of them? These are my kids.”

Lady: “No, I understand that one is yours.”

She points at my daughter, who is a spitting image of me. She then points at my son:

Lady: “But that one is your patient.”

Me: “No, not my patient, my son.”

Lady: “Oh, I see. You don’t want me taking your job. I’m sure there are other kids like him that need caretakers.”

Me: “No, this is my actual son. I gave birth to him. It’s also rude to use the R-word, especially to my son and me.”

Lady: “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I just want an easy job that I can take my grandkid with me.”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m an RN, and this is my kid, and I’m not at work. Please just leave us alone.”

Lady: “Well, if you’re gonna be like that, I guess I won’t talk to you anymore.”

She turned around and stomped off. 

This was sixteen years ago. My son is now twenty-one and a pretty cool dude. Thankfully, we haven’t had too many run-ins with idiots who think it’s okay to use the R-word.