I’ve got two boys, aged six and eight, and they’re as hyperactive and prone to fighting as only boys their age can be.

There’s a playground about a block from our house, and I usually take them out to play for an hour before the sun sets. This playground has a small jungle gym, and both boys, being boys, like to race each other to the top (and quarrel nonstop about who won).

It’s a three-sided pyramid, with a capstone on top. 

Recently, I’ve come up with a creative solution. I’ve told my sons that second place is the winner. This means that both brothers would scale up the jungle gym, right up to the second highest rung, and glare at each other, daring the other to touch the capstone first.

And given how stubborn both the little brats are, they can (and have) spend the whole hour just doing nothing but waiting for the other to make a move.

It also means that I get a peaceful hour to sit down on the bench under the tree in the shade with a good book. Which is very therapeutic and some much needed relax time for me.

So, we go to the park together, and as usual, the boys beeline the jungle gym, trading insults and racing to the top as usual. 

We’re not the only people in the park, though. There’s a teenaged/young adult couple there. The girlfriend is doing TikTok dances in the grassy area, while the bored boyfriend is sitting at the top of the pyramid, on his phone.

So, the two boys climb up to the top from the other two sides and begin their usual bickering about who’s the winner. The boyfriend is clearly amused by my children’s bickering and looks up at them.

Boyfriend: *Turns around and touches the capstone.* “I’m the winner. I was here first.”

Both Of My Boys: “SECOND PLACE WINS!”

Boyfriend: “I agree.” *Pause.* “So who wants to be third place?”

Both my boys immediately lunge for the capstone and then get into a brawl over who touched it first. They tumble down the jungle gym, yelling all the way, then decide to continue their fight in the sandpit.

There went my hour of peace and quiet. Now instead of getting to read in peace, I have to keep my boys from killing each other in the sandpit, push them on the swings and merry-go-round, watch them as they climb up the slide and other play fixtures… 

I look up and give that young man the most baleful glare I can muster. I’d barely had time to sit down and get my book out. And he has the insolence to smirk and WINK at me. 

In that moment, somehow, I know, deep in my bones, that he’s got brothers as well, and probably a mother who employed similar tricks as me. There’s no mistaking that look on his face. 

Some people really just enjoy the suffering of others.

CONTENT WARNING: Accusation of Nazism directed (unknowingly) at Jewish person

I work at a kids’ jump place, so it’s pretty obvious that I’ve run into a few Entitled Jerks here and there. But today’s experience was one I felt deserved to be shared.

Some of our jumps don’t allow parents to go on — specifically, the bigger jumps since a parent could accidentally hit a younger kid. This is a constant issue at my workplace; I have to tell so many parents that adults aren’t allowed on certain jumps. Most of the time, they understand and don’t go again. Sometimes they’re inquisitive or annoyed, but I’ve never been insulted or thrown any flak; they just think the rule is dumb.

As I was walking up to the mother who is the subject of this story, she was instantly pretty hostile.

Mother: “You’re not gonna come tell me to get down, are you?”

Me: “I’m sorry, miss, but adults can’t go on this jump.”

Mother: “Really? You’re a f****** Nazi man.”

I was so taken aback by this; I normally only hear this type of talk online. The thing is, I’m actually Jewish, and my great-grandparents lived during and survived the Holocaust. But I decided to hold my tongue since this woman was obviously a toxic individual.

Then, she tried to guilt me.

Mother: “Come on, [Kid], I’m not the one making you cry. That guy is.”

Her kid wasn’t crying; he was silent as a mouse.

This would’ve been the end of it if she hadn’t been less mature than a nineteen-year-old employee. She thankfully didn’t try to get on the jump again, but she decided to be a grown baby. Every time I walked by her, she made comments. I couldn’t hear all of them over the commotion, but these were a couple.

Mother: “Look out for him, kids. He’s a commie.”

Mother: “Sorry we can’t have any fun anymore, kids. He’s to blame.”

I decided to ignore her, but it really pisses me off to think she’s teaching her kids to be a baby when things don’t go their way and to treat employees like they aren’t humans. A grown mother more childish than a student employee out there.

I worked at a soft play centre for small children for a couple of years. One day, I was managing the check-in desk when two mothers came in with their children.

Mother #1: “I’ll get this.” *Pulls out her purse*

Mother #2: “No, you got it last time. It’s my turn to pay.”

Mother #1: “No, really, I insist.”

Mother #2: “Well, if you’re sure. That’s very kind of you.”

[Mother #2]’s small child spoke up then.

Child: *Very loudly* “Mummy will be very pleased. The bank machine ate her card this morning! She said a bad word!”

When I was about twelve, I used to go to a playground in a small park near my house. The playground was structured so the swings were kind of in the middle of everything. And brilliant kids ranging from about four to eight years old always ran across in front of whoever was on the swing at the time. Parents for some reason only tried to catch them once or twice in three years of my regular presence there.

Kids would run by about every three minutes, and even if they were far enough away, I would stop the swing with my legs immediately (which hurt). One day, when I was on a swing, a mom came up to me to complain.

Mom: “My kids are playing here, and you’re putting them in danger!”

Me: “I see them, and I always try to stop the swing when kids get nearby. The only solution would be not to use the swings at all. You should probably teach your kids not to run in front of a swing.”

That last remark was rude.

Mom: “How old are you?!”

Me: “I’m twelve.”

Mom: *Almost shouting* “Playgrounds are for kids! You’re too old!”

This was a public playground with no age restrictions.

Then, another woman (the mom’s mom, judging by the dialogue and her age) came up to her and asked her to stop. Thank God. She went back to sit on a bench nearby to keep making her remarks.

I’m with my two-year-old at a playground. As she’s two, I’m keeping pretty close to her, in case she needs anything while she’s running around. 

Another girl, about four, is climbing on the playground equipment nearby. My daughter goes past her to get to the slide — just near her, not touching or cutting in line — and out of the blue, the other girl hits her.

Me: “Don’t hit.”

Girl: “You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my mom.”

She moves as if to hit my daughter again.

Me: “DO. NOT. HIT. PEOPLE.”

Girl: “You’re not my mom!”

An older woman comes over, looking tired and distracted.

Older Woman: “Is there a problem?”

Girl: *Pointing to me* “She’s trying to tell me what to do, Grandma!”

Me: “I told her not to hit my daughter after she did so unprovoked.”

Older Woman: *Sounding dazed* “Oh.”

Girl: “But she’s not Mom!”

The older woman shrugs and wanders back to the benches on the side of the playground.

Other Girl: “See?”

Me: *Pointing to my daughter* “I am her mom, and I can tell you not to hit her.”

The other girl pouted and, finally, left to terrorize another part of the playground.