The Plush Protector

I’m at a state fair, wandering between rides and food stalls, when I notice two families waiting for the same ride. It’s two moms, two young boys, maybe five or six years old. 

One boy is clutching a very worn-out stuffed animal. You can tell it’s his whole world based on how well-loved it is.

Before getting on the ride, he sets the stuffed animal down on a nearby bench and runs over to grab something from a stand. In the few seconds he’s gone, the other boy grabs the toy.

Both moms see it.

Mom: *The rightful owner’s mom.* “Hey, that’s my son’s toy. He just put it down for a second.”

Entitled Mom: “If he found it, he can keep it.”

Mom: “Excuse me? He’s had that since he was a baby.”

Entitled Mom: “Then he shouldn’t have been so careless. You can buy another one from a stand.”

Meanwhile, the poor kid sees his stuffed animal being tossed in the air like a ball and starts quietly crying, not loud or bratty, just heartbroken. That’s my breaking point.

While the entitled mom’s looking elsewhere, I crouch down and say softly to the kid with the toy:

Me: “You should give this back, okay?”

He hesitates, and I gently take the stuffed animal, with no struggle or fuss, dust it off, and hand it back to the boy it belongs to.

Entitled Mom: *Turning back and seeing me.* “Hey! You just assaulted my child! I’m calling security!”

I just smile and keep her talking long enough for the rightful mom and her son to make their escape.

Once they’re out of sight, I stop mid-conversation, turn, and walk away. I am the stuffed animal vigilante now.