I’m driving with my ten-year-old in my Odyssey minivan that’s nearly twice her age. A Cybertruck passes us. I don’t know enough about cars to know if they’re any good, but I do know they’re weird-looking, and my child seems to agree.
Ten-Year-Old: “That’s so ugly. I’d rather drive a beat-up Honda than a Cybertruck.”
Me: *Laughing.* “This IS a beat-up Honda!”
Our family is on vacation. One of the highlights is visiting the Underground Railroad Museum. We’ve received a wonderful tour and learned a lot of history about the people who both fought for and against the Underground Railroad.
My son is looking a little bored as we walk around the grounds after the tour.
Me: “You okay?”
Son: “Yeah, it’s just… not what I imagined.”
Me: “What did you imagine?”
Son: “I thought the Underground Railroad the enslaved used was… you know…”
Me: “…Ha ha, an actual underground railroad?”
Son: “Well…”
Me: “Wait, you’re serious?”
Son: “It’s a very misleading name.”
Me: “So when I told you about your great-great-great-great-grandmother using the Underground Railroad, you thought she escaped using the subway?”
I’m doing some food shopping with my son. Note that I have been single since I divorced his mom five years ago, because I’ve been focused on raising him.
While pushing the cart around, I spot a woman I used to work with and say hello to her. We chat briefly, and she gives my son a smile and says hello to him too, explaining that when he asks, we used to work together. After we part ways, my son waits until she’s out of earshot.
Son: “She seems nice.”
Me: “Yes, she’s very sweet.”
Son: “She’s pretty, too.”
Me: *Seeing where this is going.* “She’s married. And a lesbian.”
Son: “Are you sure?”
Me: “Yes. I’ve met her wife.”
Son: “Some people like both, you know.”
Me: “[Son], I know you’re just looking out for me, but I don’t think I’ll ever be so lonely that I need a ten-year-old wingman to help me flirt with my gay, married ex-coworker at a [Warehouse Store], okay?”
When my son was a baby, we had my youngest sisters stay with us for a week. At the time, one was almost ten, and the other had just turned eleven. While changing my son’s diaper one day, the younger girl came in and watched.
Sister: “What’s that thing on him?”
Me: “What thing—oh. That’s his boy part. Boys have the part they use to pee outside their bodies.”
Sister: “Oh.” *Makes a face.* “I’m glad all my parts are INSIDE my body.”
Cut to three years later, and we now have another baby, a girl. My son recognized that girls do not have “pee-pees,” but he still asked while I was changing my daughter’s diaper:
Son: “Why don’t girls have pee-pees?”
Me: “Well… they kind of do. Their pee-pees are just inside their bodies.”
Son: “Oh. I’m glad my parts are on the outside.”
There’s a small dollar store in a shopping center that I like going to because it’s conveniently located near other retailers I visit while doing errands.
This store is in a small shopping center, and people are prone to taking the carts out to their cars and leaving them in the parking lot rather than taking them back to the store, which is only a few hundred feet away at most, because the parking lot is small.
And because the store itself is also small, they don’t have a large number of carts, which means some days, all of the carts are left in the parking lot.
Since I know it can be frustrating to have to return to the lot to track down a cart, I typically try to grab two or three carts as I head into the store so that other shoppers can have a cart.
On the day of this story, the weather is pleasant, and I’m not in a hurry, so I round up half a dozen carts and am pushing them toward the store when a woman approaches me. Note: I also have my nine-year-old son with me, who has one hand on the cart farthest away from me to help me keep them straight.
Woman: “Ugh, finally! I’ve been standing out here for like fifteen minutes waiting for a cart! You should move faster! This is ridiculous!”
Me: “Okay, well, I don’t work here. I just felt like being a Good Samaritan today, so…” *Shrugs.* “Just take a cart and get to shopping, I guess?”
Woman: *Huffs.* “How rude! You should round up the carts ASAP so that your customers don’t have to wait to do their shopping! Some of us have better things to do than wait on lazy slugs like you!”
My son, who is slightly autistic and does NOT like rude people, gives her a dirty look.
Woman: *Glaring at my son.* “And what’s your problem?!”
Son: *Glaring right back at her.* “You are! You’re a rude person, lady! You need to go learn your manners! My mama doesn’t work here and is just tryin’ to be a nice person, so someone old or holdin’ a baby might can get a cart faster because they need it! You’re a mean person!
At this, the woman turns beet red and mutters to herself before storming into the store.
Son: *Glaring after her and puffing up his cheeks.* “I don’t like that lady! I hope a house falls on her like The Wizard of Oz!”
I nearly choked on my laughter as I told my son that he has to ignore awful people like that. We passed her twice while we were shopping, and both times, my son glared at her, and she turned red as she looked away.