On the Offensive

Every now and then, one or both of my kids makes the decision to amp up their energy level. Sometimes it's caused by a lack of sleep. Sometimes it's too much sugar. It always happens to my daughter after bath time. I have yet to fully understand this anomaly. Whatever the reason, my daughter picked tonight as her night to surge our world with electric energy.

It took no time at all for us to decide that our evening plans would include a trip to our local McDonald's Play Place. Of course that room is always a grab bag for who your kids will get to play with. Age, temperament, size, shyness are all unpredictable and uncontrollable variables.

I sent Rodney into the den with our little lions while I ordered a cone-in-a-cup and smoothie to share (which our 1-year-old quickly confiscated). Yes, obviously sugar isn't ideal when the 3-year-old is already off the chain, but I figured she would be playing so hard that it wouldn't matter.

Upon my arrival at our table, a little girl in tears who I would guess to be about 8 rushed past me to her unsympathetic father. Also in tears and on her heels was what I assumed to be her little brother. She complained that "that kid" punches really hard. The dad simply argued that she had been laughing and playing just minutes before and that she was fine.

The only other table in the area was one with a man in his mid to late twenties with the physique of a UFC fighter, a man probably in his early sixties, and four kids-- three beautiful, blond boys and one pudgy little girl. They seemed well-behaved enough. I suspected the man in his twenties was the father, but he said almost nothing the entire visit. It was instead the grandfatherly man (who actually looked a lot like the guy on History Channel's show "Mail Call") who asked if "his kids" were doing anything wrong.

The crying girls' father brushed it off, but the older man forced a little boy to apologize anyway. Fair enough, I guess. Sometimes kids hit, right?

This particular Play Place has several "windows" that allow visual connection between children and adults. And only a few minutes after the kids had cheered up and gone in to play again, I saw one of the blondies punch the previously-crying boy twice. From where I was, I could not tell whether it was provoked, but I began to feel very uncomfortable. I considered heading home, but I figured I was the only one who had noticed, and maybe there was some sort of rivalry going on in the tubes.

A little after that, our kids finished up and joined the other awkwardly playing children. All the girls followed each other and seemed to have fun. Then I noticed again, the same little boy (probably only about 5 years old) leaning over his sister and just letting it go. I saw about 4 punches before she got away. No crying, no screaming for help. Just fleeing.

About this time, our one-year-old decided for the first time in his short life that he too could conquer the tunnel system all on his own. I was so proud that he had done it! He challenged those tubes of pink and yellow and had found himself in a little box with a "window" that faced our table. Beaming with excitement, he yelled for us and, as every kid does, slapped against the plexiglass to get our attention. We returned his excitement, waving, smiling, and blowing kisses to our proud adventurer.

One of the blond brothers (no older than 2) popped his head into the window beside our little guy, and we waved at him too. He quickly stepped back and shoved our boy into the window. My heart stopped. Over the next few half seconds, I convinced myself that maybe it was an accident.

I was wrong.

Our little guy bounced off the plexiglass and staggered backward a few steps only to be shoved again, this time cracking his forehead against the corner by the window and proceeding to smash his face into the window again.

My heart sinks into my chest, causing a physical heaviness just remembering these events. Rodney stood up to offer our baby boy any possible support as he was now crying. The other little boy was still standing by him.

What would you do?

We have no power to discipline the offending toddler. I was in a skirt and unable to crawl through the tunnels. I think Rodney was just too stunned to know what to do, and on top of it didn't want to disappear from our son's line of vision.

Again the grandfatherly man asked if "his kid" had done something. I didn't learn until later that Rodney hadn't noticed our son's head hitting the corner before being met with the window. So he assured the man that although his little boy had pushed ours, our son was exaggerating it with all his crying. The older man sent his girl in to investigate. She found our little guy and brought him down to us.

Rodney and I agreed that we thought it best to head home, but our daughter wanted "5 more minutes" that we reluctantly gave her. Much less than 5 minutes later, she too came out of the tunnel maze in tears complaining that her head hurt. I didn't bother to ask why, but instead gathered up our things and kids and headed out.

The short ride home was full of our emotions. I grew up in a home with parents that spanked, but beyond that, there was no physical touch of any kind really-- good or bad. Rodney grew up in a very different environment.

He pointed out that while we don't know much about those kids' lives, we can logically deduce that violence is the norm for them. And it breaks my heart.

I think about the little boy who was less than 2 years old and about how, unless he gets out of that family and life, he is doomed to live that way. Not only him, but any children he may have after him as well. No woman will be safe with him. Obviously, these are big conclusions to jump to. And even if they're not true about those little boys (and the poor girl), it IS true about others.

My heart is sad and heavy.

When we got home, I threw my kids in the tub. As I was washing my son's hair, I noticed a large knot that had formed from the assault. And at the risk of sounding cheesy, I thought of Jesus.

First of all, my son was completely undeserving of the treatment he underwent. He was innocently joyful to see people he loved dearly. But he was blocking more of the window than the other little boy wanted. So he hurt my pure, sweet son.

Secondly, by the time I had noticed the knot, according to the nature in children, he had completely forgiven the other little boy. My son was playing and laughing. There was no grudge, no attitude of defeat. It was as if he had never been offended.

It makes me indignant to think about someone carrying out an unprovoked attack on my innocent, non-offending son. But God did it on a much larger scale. Wow.

"I'll never know how much it cost to see my sin upon that cross." Thank you.