When my sister and I were little, our favorite store at the mall was one of those places with lots of little bins of candy where, after making your own mixed bag, you paid by weight.

One day, we were standing outside the candy store, which had glass walls, when we witnessed a small boy digging fervently inside his nose with his finger. We watched in horror, unsure if he knew that people could see through solid glass… and then he opened a candy bin, reached inside, and used the hand with the picking finger to squish all of the gummy worms. He then withdrew his hand and went about his business.

I wish I could say my sister and I learned not to patronize that store. But I think we probably only avoided the gummy worms, and only on that particular day. We assumed the best.

My goddaughters and their mother were staying at a local bed and breakfast near me to visit and, as such, I was getting some quality time with the kids. My friend and her family keep REALLY late hours, so it was late enough that some kids would be preparing for bed already by the time dinner had ended. The still wide-awake kids asked if I’d take them to the park. I agreed, and we stayed there until it was dark out before it was time to walk them home.

I should mention here that I’m male, and I volunteer with kids enough that I’m quite familiar with having to prove to strangers that I’m not secretly a pedophile kidnapping kids. I’ve discussed the problems I have with this with the girls as part of explaining why gender roles — and other stereotypes — are harmful and generally trying to get them to be more supportive of non-traditional folks.

As we walked, I noticed a police officer drive pass the small road we were on and then stop, back up, and turn onto our road. There was nothing else down this road except us, so I could only assume he’d seen the man walking with two young girls — of an entirely different race — down a dark alley and wanted to make sure everything was okay.

Me: “I think the police officer is coming to talk to us. He probably wants to know why I have you kids out here so late. I’ll take care of him, so don’t worry. Just answer his questions nicely if he asks you anything.”

As expected, the officer pulled up next to us and wound the window down.

Officer: “Have you seen a fourteen-year-old girl with red hair?”

[Goddaughter] interrupted the officer in a very determined voice.

Goddaughter: “Godfather [My Name] is not stealing us, and he’s not a bad guy! We love him!”

Officer: “Umm… what?”

It turned out that, in this case, I had been unfair in my presumptions. The officer did drive down the alley to talk to us but only to see if we had seen a missing girl. However, my goddaughter’s preemptive defending of my honor was one of those suspiciously specific denials that just makes you look more guilty, so I had to hasten to explain the context of her comments.

Officer: “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve dealt with that with my own girls enough times to know what it’s like. But thank you, young lady, for letting me know that your godfather isn’t a bad guy.”

Sadly, we weren’t able to help the officer with his missing child, but [Goddaughter]’s mother had a good laugh at her daughter’s adamant defense of me. And, of course, I made sure to let the girl know I loved her, too.

My mother told me this story. When I was about two years old, I was appearing to be mute, as I only talked when I deemed it necessary which was, apparently, quite rare.

One day, when we were visiting my great-grandparents, my great-grandfather declared:

Great-Grandfather: “I will teach this girl how to talk.”

He walked over to where I was drawing, grabbed an item in each hand, and started “teaching” me.

Great-Grandfather: “This is a pen. Say after me, my girl: pen. A p-e-n.”

After a while, I had enough, shook my head, and said:

Me: “No pen. Pens. Two.”

Then, I went back to drawing like nothing had happened, while my parents nearly died laughing.

I love honey on my toast and in my tea, so I usually carry some in a couple of mini jars when I’m travelling. They literally hold about two teaspoons each. I’m having a buffet breakfast in my hotel, and they don’t have honey, so I’ve brought my tiny jar to my table.

The family at the next table spots it.

Child: “Mum, look! I want honey!”

Mum: “Excuse me. Where did you get the honey? We didn’t see any.”

Me: “I don’t think they’ve got any. I brought this with me.”

Mum: “I’ll go ask.”

Off she goes, and I carry on enjoying the last of my breakfast, spreading honey on my toast.

Mum: *To her daughter* “They haven’t got any. We’ll ask the nice lady.”

Dad: *To me* “Excuse me. They haven’t got any. Can my daughter have some of yours?”

Me: “No, sorry. It’s just enough for one.”

Mum: “But she just wants a bit. Can’t you spare a bit?”

Me: “No, sorry, but it’s really just enough for me.”

Daughter: “Daaaaad, I really want honey.”

Dad: “Look, she’s just a kid. Can you just give us a bit for her?”

Me: “No. I can’t.”

I spoon the last of my honey into my tea and put the jar into my pocket.

Mum: *Angry now* “Oh, well, that’s nice. Sorry, [Daughter], the lady won’t give you any honey.”

The daughter starts crying.

Dad: “Are you happy now? Look at her!”

Me: “I’m not the one who promised her honey when there wasn’t any. Yeah, I’m happy. Looks like your day’s going to suck, though.”

I took my tea and headed to my room while the daughter had a complete meltdown behind me.

This took place in the summer of 1975. At the time, my sons were nine and seven, and they were in the Cub Scouts. Like most kids, they quickly made friends with the other kids, and as a dad, I made friends with the other dads that volunteered. Most of us got along well with the families except for [Mother] and her son.

[Mother] was extremely clueless about her own son and basically refused to parent him. She was more into the lifestyle of a mom, being in mommy groups, and spending her husband’s money rather than being a good parent to her son. The dad was a good person but worked a lot so he was absent. Their nine-year-old son, [Kid] was a NOTORIOUS BULLY. He was overly aggressive, he hit other children, he stole items, and he was extremely disrespectful toward other adults. When the other parents brought this up, [Mother] would make constant excuses for him.

Mother: “He’s just a boy! He’s just expressing himself! Your kids started it!”

What made it worse was that [Mother] would pacify her son’s behavior with sweets, toys, and other things that he wanted.

Because of this, the other parents and I didn’t invite [Mother] and her son to events that took place outside of Scouts. [Mother] would often call our home about getting sleepovers or having her son play with our kids, which we were adamant about not happening. If we didn’t give in, she said:

Mother: “You’re bullying my son by excluding him! How could you do that to a child?!”

She also threatened to call the governor for discrimination because she’s a baptist.

In late June, the other parents and I were talking about a beach trip to Santa Cruz and bringing our families with us. We talked through everything among the ten other moms and dads, planning this out. [Mother] must have overheard what we were saying.

Mother: “Can you take my son with you? I have to do something with my husband.”

Me: “What?! Where?”

Mother: “To Santa Cruz.”

Me: “Uh, no. You and your son are not invited. This a friends-only trip.”

Kid: “You’re a big meanie!”

He kicked me in the leg and ran away.

Mother: “Look what you did! Child hater!”

She chased after him.

Because this was a big trip, we decided to go shopping and hit the road on Friday. We had to do lots of shopping in bulk to reasonably feed twelve adults and eighteen kids.

My wife and I, along with four other parents, were watching the cars and keeping the kids occupied. For a brief moment, I turned my attention to my car to turn the air conditioning up cause my kids said that they were hot.

I turned back around and [Kid] was there with his bag and [Mother] was peeling out in her station wagon. We are all just in shock, asking ourselves, “Is this really happening to us?”

The boy’s mother had given him a note that listed his allergies and an emergency phone number. We called — no answer. We couldn’t leave the kid there alone and we were not going to bring him with us, so we opted to call the police. We put the kid in the car to keep him out of the sun, and we made the call. We report [Mother] for the abandonment of her child. They sent an officer out in about fifteen minutes.

As the other parents and I were heading back to the cars to wait for the police, we saw that [Kid] was pulling my four-year-old daughter’s hair. The reason why? The kids had some snacks in the cooler and didn’t want to share them with [Kid]; he didn’t ask them nicely, just demanded that they give him food.

As we ran toward the cars, ten of the boys pulled [Kid] off of my daughter and started to BEAT HIS A**! Now, the kids had two years of rage toward this kid bottled up inside, so what took place wasn’t surprising.

By the time we got there and broke up the fight, [Kid] was bleeding and crying. He called us all mean and started cussing us out and hitting things.

Kid: “I want to go on the trip! I want to go on the trip! I want to go on the trip now!”

He kept parroting this over and over again until I yelled at him to shut up, which only made him cry more. Now, I will admit I was probably in the wrong here. Maybe I should have extended some compassion, but my child was crying and being harassed.

The police arrived soon after and we explained what had happened.

The police took [Kid], and apparently, he was dropped off at his father’s job. [Mother] received a child neglect charge. When she saw that our kids had beaten [Kid] up, she tried to charge our kids for assault. It was dropped because it was self-defense.