A father and his daughter — maybe twelve years old — come up to the reference desk. To call the child surly is an understatement. She clearly wants to be anywhere but here. The father is prompting his little angel.

Father: “Go on. Tell the librarian about what you need.”

He then turns to me.

Father: “Maybe you will understand.”

Daughter: “I need a book on Moes.”

That is exactly how she pronounces it, like “Moles” but without the L.

Me: “Okay. Can you tell me a little more? I am not quite certain what we are talking about.”

Father: “You and me both.”

Daughter: “MOES.”

Me: “What class is this for?”

Daughter: “School.”

Me: “Yes, but what class?”

Daughter: “For a report on MOES.”

The father shakes his head and looks heavenward.

Me: “Okay, let’s try again. Science? History? English?”

Daughter: “I doin’ a report on MOES.”

Father: “Okay, I am going to ask again. What the heck are we talking about?”

Daughter: “I tol’ you. MOES.”

Me: “Is it for science? Are we talking about mold? Like how it’s used for penicillin?”

Daughter: “I ain’t doing nothing with penicillin.”

Father: “WHICH. CLASS. IS. THIS. FOR?”

The daughter gives a heavy sigh as if she is giving up state secrets.

Daughter: “Moes. Like what grow in the back yard!”

Father: “You mean moles? Like the animal?”

She stomps her foot and screams “MOES” again. But she finally says, in a completely different voice:

Daughter: “It’s for science class.”

I get inspired because there have been a lot of kids through looking for material on plants and trees.

Me: “Is this for Mr. [Science Teacher]’s class?”

The daughter now has her lower lip stuck out.

Daughter: “Yeah.”

Me: “Are we talking about the thick green stuff that grows on the side of trees and around the roots?”

She looks peeved that I figured it out.

Daughter: “Yeah.”

Her father invokes the Lord’s name and adds:

Father: “It’s called MOSS. MOSS.”

I find some appropriate information and send an assistant off to get the books.

Father: *Shaking his head* “Thank you! As God is my witness, she speaks perfectly good English, but since she got in with this bunch of new friends, she’s decided on this whole new gig.”

He turns to his daughter.

Father: “YOU may think you sound all down with the struggle, but what you sound like is a fool. We’re going to have a talk about speaking so you can be understood when we get home.”

I so wanted to slap a gold star on that weary-eyed man’s chest.

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When my niece was born over thirty years ago, my sister thought it would be cute to put the infant on the phone. I protested, but she did it anyway.

Me: “Hi, [Niece]! Tell Mommy I said, ‘Bye, bye!’”

And I hang up. My sister calls back seconds later, enraged, and asks me why I hung up.

Me: “Didn’t [Niece] tell you?”

Sister: “NO! She can’t talk!”

Me: “Exactly!” 

And I waited for her sputtering response. She eventually thought it was funny.

This story is part of our Best Of September 2020 roundup!

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During my preteen and teen years, my dad made it a family goal to take me and my brother camping to every cold spring in Florida. After a while of doing this, we had a pretty solid routine down, so one morning, I get ready to go swimming first and grab a couple of watermelons to chill with me while my dad and brother secure the site.

I swim out to the middle of the spring, where it’s blasting out water up from beneath me, and relax back with my fruity buoys. A while passes and I realize that my family hasn’t joined me. I look around and spot them in a crowd standing on the boardwalk on the shore, so I start to paddle over. They must have already seen where I was, as the moment I start moving, they both frantically start waving their arms and making Xs in a clear “DO NOT COME OVER HERE” signal. Not one to argue with that sort of display, I settle in to wait.

Eventually, my family does join me, along with a throng of people who had also been held up on the boardwalk, and I learn what happened. A family had entered the water before everyone and one of their children had apparently soiled themselves to the point that their swimsuit was bulging with it. The child was jumping up and trying to get onto one of the blow-up floats the family had, but kept missing, and each time they missed little logs would pop out and go floating down the river. Obviously, no one wanted to enter the water with this going on, thus the crowd.

Thankfully, my position in the spring kept all the water flowing away from me, and the river itself was fast-moving, so the… debris… was cleared quickly, but I still don’t understand why the family didn’t just take their child to get cleaned up or how they remained oblivious to the problem they caused around them!

I am bringing a tray of clean dishes to the front to put away while my coworker is in the back washing more. A little girl, about three years old, wanders near the entrance to the kitchen. Her dad is right behind her.

Dad: “Oh, no, you can’t go in there. If you go in there, they’ll put you to work.”

Me: “Yep. Would you like to wash dishes?”

Little Girl: “Um… yes.”

Me: “Well, in that case, you can stay!”

Dad: “All right. Mom and I will see you later. We’re going home.”

We both expect the little girl to turn around to him, but instead, she begins tip-toeing closer to the kitchen and peeks around the corner of the entrance.

Dad: “Okay, no. You can’t actually stay here and do dishes.” *To me* “Thanks, and have a good night!”

Me: “You, too!”

I am eating out, sitting in a booth, when I suddenly feel a sharp pain on top of my head. I flinch and turn to look, and I end up dodging the second swing of a spoon being held by a toddler in the next booth over. He has evidently stood up and decided that drumming on my head with a spoon would be a lot of fun.

I look at his parents; both of them are fully engrossed in their phones and are paying absolutely no attention.

The toddler swings again. I dodge and then fix him with a direct stare and a frown, before sharply shaking my head.

Me: “No, that hurts.”

The smile he has been wearing fades, and he ends up turning around and flopping down on the seat. I turn back to my meal, figuring that is the end of it, when the mother speaks up.

Mother: “How dare you?!”

I turn to see her glaring back at me.

Mother: “It’s not your place to scold my kid.”

Me: “It’s not my place to be your kid’s drum, either.”

She scoffed and actually stuck out her tongue before turning back to her phone. Meanwhile, her kid had moved on to doodling on the menu with a couple of crayons.