My youngest child was playing on a tee-ball team. The kids, five- and six-year-olds, were playing on a makeshift field where the spectators had to stand along the first and third base lines. Every kid got to play at least two innings, and most teams had twelve players.

During one particular game, I noticed a little girl acting like she didn’t want to take the outfield when it was her turn to play. She was nearly hiding behind her mother’s leg, and the coach was about to just let it go and leave her out of the game.

I didn’t want to take over the moment, but I knew how she felt because, at that age, I had the same problem: horrible shyness.

I went to the little girl.

Me: “I know how you feel. Would you be willing to take your position in the outfield if I stood beside you the entire time you’re out there?”

She agreed to do it. I knew that once she broke the barrier of her shyness, she would enjoy the game. So, I stood with her for three innings in the outfield, once telling her where to throw the ball.

She wound up having a blast at the rest of the games that summer.

After that, every time she saw me in town for the next few years, she would yell out:

Little Girl: “Hi, Mister Coach!”

I came away with more than she did, I think.

My family is checking in to a hotel, and the receptionist asks his usual questions

Receptionist: “Do you have any questions?”

My younger brother (kindergarten age) chimes in

Brother: “I have a question. Is that your snooker table in the other room?”

Receptionist: “Yes, the pool table belongs to the hotel.”

Brother: “Can I please play?

Receptionist: “No, we don’t let children play.

Brother: “Oh. Okay.”

The next evening, we are sitting in the hotel restaurant. After ordering, the waitstaff turns to my brother.

Waitstaff: “I heard you wanted to play with our pool table?”

Brother: “Yes, I wanted to play snooker, like on TV. But the other man said children can’t play here.”

Waitstaff: “You know, we decided to make an exception for you.

Mom: “That’s not necessary.”

Waitstaff: “I know, but everyone here agrees. It would be nice to have a guest play on that table who doesn’t behave like a toddler.”

Brother: “I’m not a toddler; I’m going to kindergarten!”

Waitstaff: “I’ve had guests much older than you who would scream and punch things for being told ‘no’.”

My five-year-old has just had a dentist appointment and is playing with the prize she picked out. 

Daughter: “Mama, do you get any surprises when you go to the dentist?”

Me: “The bill. Or if I have a cavity.”

Daughter: “Those aren’t prizes!”

Me: “No. But they sure are surprises.”

Daughter: “That doesn’t sound like a fun surprise.”

Me: “It’s not.”

I am visiting my sister’s family in California. We’re Caucasian, and one of her sons married a wonderful woman who is African-American. Their two young children have different complexions; their older boy is brownish and looks more Hispanic, and their daughter looks Caucasian.

One afternoon, I go to watch my two great-niblings play soccer. I meet them and their mom at the park and watch both of their games. After playing, they both look overheated, so I offer to buy ice cream for everyone. We go to an ice cream shop, get our orders, and sit down at a table.

My nephew’s wife has to excuse herself to the restroom, so I sit there talking to my great-niblings about their games.

A nosy-looking older woman comes over to our table while their mom is still away.

Woman: “I think it’s wonderful how tolerant you’re being.”

Me: “Tolerant? Of what?”

Woman: “Letting your… granddaughter? …sit with your housekeeper’s son eating ice cream.”

I stand up and reply softly so the kids don’t hear.

Me: “First, these two are siblings — my great nephew and niece. And the woman who you call my ‘housekeeper’ is my niece. And the only thing I’m having to be tolerant of is nosy old bigots interrupting a family outing. But my tolerance has limits, so please leave us alone.”

The woman retreated, not uttering another word. Unbeknownst to me, my niece had returned while I was whispering my retort to NOW. When I turned around, she was crying. She gave me a big hug, and then we sat and ate our ice cream.

The woman was still there, but every time I looked around, she quickly looked away from us — in shame, hopefully.

Related:
And What Happens When You Assume? Part 3
And What Happens When You Assume? Part 2
And What Happens When You Assume?
Remember What Happens When You Assume
What’s That Saying About What Happens When You Assume?

I work in an ice cream shop.

Customer: “Hi. Which flavours are dairy-free here?”

Me: “All our fruit-based flavours don’t have dairy. Then we’ve got this new entry: soy-based chocolate. We also keep waffle cones just for that, so no need to go for a cup, if you’d like.”

Customer: “Oh, that’s great. I’ll have a large one with gianduja and Stracciatella, then.”

Me: “Er… those aren’t dairy-free.”

Customer: “Oh, I know, I’m just buying a cone for myself and another.”

Me: “So, neither of you is lactose intolerant?”

Customer: “Nah, it’s not me who has a lactose allergy. My kid does, but he’s misbehaving because neither his dad nor I am buying him ice cream, so I came here to buy some for my husband and myself and eat it in front of his face.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “Well, I needed him to know he could have the ice cream. No point using it as a lesson if there weren’t any dairy-free options, but there are, so… that should teach him.”

I did serve her, yes. I did not like the way she put it, though, and I hope everyone involved grows up.