What You Can Learn About People By How They Treat Your Kid When You’re Not Around
It was the last U8 soccer potluck, the last Saturday in May, and the grass still held a faint chill even at noon. I’d baked chocolate chip cookies for the snack table, and when we got there, I realized I’d left the stack of paper plates in the trunk. I told the other parents standing nearby I’d be two minutes, and jogged back across the parking lot. I’d left my phone on the edge of the picnic table, so when I got back with the plates, I came up slower than I planned, pausing to tuck my windblown hair behind my ear before stepping into the circle of parents and kids.
That’s when I saw it. My son Leo, who’s seven and has dyspraxia that makes his coordination a little off, had knocked over the two-gallon lemonade dispenser. It belonged to Mark, the dad of another kid on the team, who’d spent the past hour laughing and chatting with me, commenting on how cute Leo’s new cleats were. The lemonade had soaked straight through the toes of Mark’s brand new white sneakers. I opened my mouth to apologize, when Mark leaned in toward Leo, voice low and sharp, and said, “Jesus Christ, can’t you watch where you’re going? Why do you always have to mess things up for everyone?”
Leo just hunched his shoulders, shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, and stared at his feet. Before I could step forward, Mark heard me, looked up, and that warm smile slid right back onto his face. “Whoa, that thing’s slippery, huh?” he said, like he’d been teasing all along. “No harm done.”
I grabbed my phone and Leo’s backpack, told the coach we weren’t feeling well, and left. On the drive home, Leo didn’t say anything for 10 minutes, then he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to.” That’s when the old saying I’d heard a hundred times clicked into place for me: you don’t truly know a person until you see how they treat someone else’s kid when the parent isn’t around.
I’ve had enough small moments like this to know it’s not just a saying. A year ago, I had a sudden kidney stone attack and had to run to the emergency room in the middle of the afternoon. I left Leo with my sister and her new boyfriend, told them I’d be a few hours. I forgot my insurance card in the entryway, so my sister texted her boyfriend to meet me at the door, and he came out with Leo trailing behind him, holding a half-cooked pancake he’d dropped on the floor. I was doubled over in pain, but I still heard him tell my sister, “He did all the mixing, I just helped him flip it. It’s fine, we’ll make another.” He didn’t snap, he didn’t make Leo feel bad for messing it up, and there was no audience around to impress. That’s how I knew he was good for my sister, and good for kids, period.
Most of the time, we judge people based on how they act when we’re right there. We ask for references for babysitters, we chat with coaches at parent nights, we accept other parents’ friendship based on how nice they are to our face. But everyone puts on a little bit of a show when a parent is watching. No one wants to be the adult that yells at a kid in front of their mom. The real test comes when something goes wrong, when the kid is being loud or clumsy or annoying, and there’s no one there to call you out for being rude.
This isn’t just about judging other people, either. It’s a reminder I’ve started to carry with me, when I’m watching someone else’s kid and their parent isn’t around. It’s easy to roll your eyes when another kid makes a mess when their mom isn’t there to see it. I’ve caught myself huffing when a kid runs through my flower bed for the third time, when their dad is inside on a work call. That small, annoyed reaction is what the kid remembers, just like I remember Mark’s voice that day at the potluck.
If you’re looking for a concrete way to vet the people that spend time with your kid, it’s simpler than asking for a dozen references. Next time you’re meeting a new babysitter or a new coach or a new group of parents, intentionally create a small unplanned moment where you step out early. Tell them you forgot your wallet, or you need to step outside to take an urgent work call, or you have to run get extra napkins. Come back two or three minutes earlier than you said you would, quiet enough to see and hear what happens when you’re not there. You can leave a cheap baby monitor in the living room if you’re stepping out for 10 minutes with a new sitter, and check it from your phone parked down the street. Pay attention to how they talk about other kids when their parents aren’t around: if they call another kid a brat behind their parent’s back, that’s how they’ll talk about your kid when you’re gone.
I still think about Mark sometimes. He’s probably a good dad to his own kid, maybe he got a bad work email that morning, maybe he’d saved up for those sneakers for months. He’s not a villain. But that moment told me everything I needed to know: I don’t want to leave Leo alone with him. That’s the thing about these moments: they don’t have to add up to a perfect black and white judgment. They just give you information, the kind you can’t get from any reference check or polite small talk.
I still catch myself being short with another kid when their parent isn’t looking. I’m not perfect. But I try to remember: the kid notices. That moment, when no one is watching, is the one that matters most.
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