What How Someone Treats Another Kid When You’re Not Around Teaches You: Parenting Tips
The ketchup bottle slipped out of my hand and rolled under a neighbor’s picnic table, and I was down on my knees digging for it for three whole minutes, out of earshot of the group of kids by the mailbox where my 5-year-old Milo had been showing off his new training-wheel-free bike. By the time I fished it out and wiped grass off my jeans, I’d seen something that changed how I saw one of our neighborhood’s most popular dads.
Mark lives three houses down from us. We’d chatted hundreds of times at the bus stop, he’d brought extra donuts to my husband’s work lunch when our paths crossed at the grocery store, and he’d even helped fix our wobbly fence last spring when my husband was out of town. He coaches the local 6U tee ball team, always remembers every kid’s favorite snack, and laughs loud and easy at all the parent jokes. We’d talked a month before the block party about asking him to pick Milo up from the bus stop a couple days a month when I had early work meetings. I’d thought he’d be perfect for it.
That day, he was leaning against the mailbox waiting for his own 8-year-old to finish up a popsicle. Leo, the 7-year-old who lives two houses over, was there too. Leo has Down syndrome, and he’s obsessed with anything with wheels. His mom had gone inside to grab extra ice for the cooler, so he was lingering by Milo’s bike, craning his neck to get a closer look at the blue sparkly handlebar streamers I’d bought that week. He took one small step forward, hand outstretched, and Mark stepped between them. He held his palm out like he was blocking a stray dog from wandering into the yard, and said, loud enough for everyone standing nearby to hear: “Back up, buddy. Don’t go breaking something that’s not yours. You don’t know how to be careful with nice things.”
I froze where I was, behind a parked SUV, before I even thought about moving. Milo piped up immediately, saying it was okay, Leo could touch it, and Mark laughed and clapped Milo on the shoulder, saying “That’s nice of you, but better safe than sorry, right?” Leo just pulled his hand back, turned, and went to sit on the curb by himself, picking at dandelions until his mom came back five minutes later. By the time I walked over to join the group, Mark was grinning and waving at me, yelling “Milo’s killing it on that new bike! Can’t believe he’s already riding without training wheels!” I waved back and made small talk, but my chest felt tight. I’d liked Mark for two years, and in 10 seconds, I learned more about him than I ever got from all our bus stop chats.
We’ve all heard the old line about judging people by how they treat those who can’t do anything for them. But I don’t think we talk about how true that is when it comes to other people’s kids, when your back is turned. Every parent knows how people act when you’re standing right there. They compliment your kid’s drawing, coo over how big your baby got, adjust their behavior to make you like them. There’s a reward for being nice to a kid when their parent is watching: you get to be seen as a good guy. When the parent’s gone, that reward disappears. What you’re left with is how they actually feel about inconvenient kids, messy kids, kids that don’t act the way they think kids should act.
After that day, I started intentionally stepping out of sight for a few minutes every time we’re at a playground or a neighborhood gathering. It’s not sneaky. I just say I’m going to go get more water, or run to the car for an extra sweatshirt, and I hang back out of sight for a couple minutes. It’s a small, concrete thing that’s helped me get a clearer read on the adults who spend time around my kid. I’ve also changed how I act when I’m the only adult around someone else’s kid, when their parent isn’t there. That day with Mark made me think about how easy it is to let annoyance win, when no one is watching to call you out.
A couple of weeks after the block party, I was watching my friend’s 6-year-old while she ran to a last-minute doctor’s appointment. He snuck into my pantry, ate three of the kids’ leftover Halloween candy bars, and spilled an entire 16-ounce jar of peanut butter all over my pantry shelf. My first instinct was to snap, to tell him he shouldn’t have gone where he wasn’t supposed to go. Then I thought of Leo sitting on the curb, and I took a breath. I got a trash bag and a sponge, and I said “That’s okay, I’ve done dumber stuff in my kitchen. Let’s clean this up together, and I’ll cut you an apple to go with that candy, okay?” It’s not that I was being a saint. I just remembered that when a kid doesn’t have their parent there to stick up for them, that’s on me to be the person they can trust, even when I’m annoyed.
If I see something now, when I’m hanging back out of sight, I don’t wait for the parent to get back to say something. I walk over, and I redirect gently. That day at the block party, I could have walked over and said “Leo, want to sit on the bike? Milo will show you how the brakes work, right?” It wouldn’t have started a fight, it would have corrected the hurt right then, and let Mark know someone saw what he did. That’s the rule I have now, no more staying quiet to keep the peace.
We still say hi to Mark when we pass him at the bus stop. I don’t make a big scene or avoid him entirely, but I never followed through on asking him to pick Milo up from school. It’s not that he’s a bad person. It’s just that I know what he values when no one is watching, and that’s enough for me. Some things don’t need a big fight to change how you move forward. You just see what you see, and you adjust.
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