Let’s be honest here – sometimes children are simply just little sh*ts.
“F.U.C.K” he mouthed at me.
His mouth twisted into a snarl. His eyes nasty, blazing with fury.
Had he been ten years older. I would have been horrified at the venom. But his toothless grin after he spat out his fury chipped away at the malice in his words.
He was six years old.
A child in a park — a little boy who, just moments before, had been swinging as high as he could kicking out his legs in joy.
A child. Not a pleasant child. Possibly a struggling child, but a child nonetheless. A child who had just been reprimanded for hurting my daughter and a child, right now I basically thought was pretty darn awful.
As he slunk away and threw slithers of wood chips at the other kids I wondered about him.
We’ve all heard the reasons: He’s just bored. She’s overtired. He needs grommets for his ears. We had a big weekend. He is frustrated because he feels nobody listens to him. He is actually bored at school; he isn’t challenged.
Reasons? Or excuses?
It makes me wonder. Could it ever be simply that your child is a bit of a sh*t?
I’ve thought it, even at times about my own tantruming children. A deliberately drawn-on wall, a meltdown in the supermarket over a box of smarties, a tussle over a toy that ends in tears.