B-R-A-T

Tonight, we attended a McDonald's birthday party for a daughter of a local pastor. All was well. Gift bags, happy meals, play land, cake and ice cream. Soon after the cake was devoured, the kids ventured into the play area. Five minutes later, B is sitting in a window, at the tippy-top of the rocket ship. Crying.

No, not crying. Screaming. He is yelling for me to come up there.

I shook my head, "no" and demanded he come down. He continued to scream.

And scream.

Every parent's eyes (that would be five sets of eyes) were on my kid now. Most of them were asking if he was ok. Was he scared? Hurt? Did he need help getting down? Some of the older kids tried to lead him to safety. Some tried to comfort him.

B wasn't having any of it. He screamed some more.

Louder now.

A few parents offered to go get him. "Maybe he is scared to go down the slide."

I knew better. I explained the situation as clearly as possible with a concise and very honest answer: "He is just being a jerk."

I attempted to move out of his view.

He continued to scream.

Finally, I dragged Z and S out to the van, drove up to the window facing the play area, and waved for him to come down.

He refused. I assumed, from his wide open mouth and red face, that he was still screaming.

One of the moms came out to the van to stay with S and Z while I went in to retrieve my "poor son". The local pastor, who is probably twice my size (or more) had already squeezed himself through the maze of steps and slides to the top, and had pushed my dear, (still screaming) son down the slide.

I thanked the dear man profusely, apologized even more profusely to everyone else, and left.

B got his prize bag taken away and he got a spanking. He was put directly in bed.

That was, I'm sure, the most embarrassed I have ever been of any one of my kids in my life. Ever.

One would have to ask here: How many parents does it take to parent B? Not one, apparently, because I had no clue what to do with him.