Sorry I've been MIA for a week. I'm a few posts behind -- I have some recipes from our Mother's Day brunch and a cake pop disaster to recount.
Plus, I'm totally addicted to the TV show "Dexter" right now. And I'm furiously trying to finish Season 2 from my instant queue on netflix because I have Season 3's disc sitting here waiting for me. I know, I know. I'm a marathon TV watcher. A few years ago, during a snow storm, I watched the entire first season of HBO's "Rome" in a night. I watched all that I could on HBO on demand and then walked to
Blockbuster, bundled up in a snow-suit, to rent the rest. Pre-children of course.
And I gunned through "The Wire" during my last maternity leave.
Now, it's "Dexter."
Love it, by the way.
Even though I've been a bit of a "Dexter" junkie this past week (two seasons in one week. Now you know it's an addiction), I did make it to the park yesterday with the boys. Matt was working and I decided to load Elliott in the stroller, pop Isaac in the Baby Bjorn and make a trip -- we brought snacks and drinks. It was a big thing...getting to leave the house. Oregon's spring has been wet and gloomy. I was ecstatic for any ounce of sunshine.
When we got to the park there was a rough looking guy smoking a cigarette and drinking out of a paper bag.
Of course, because of all the "Dexter", I was pretty certain he was going to kill me. I started plotting back ways to get home through the neighborhood so if he followed me I could lose him. I contemplated sneaking a picture of him to post on to Facebook with the caption: "If I am murdered. Find this man." And in true Shelbi nature, when the creepy guy opened his mouth to carry on a conversation, I found myself congenial, talkative, and, well, downright freaking charming.
In the course of a three minute conversation where he told me about his autistic son and how he lives with his dad and doesn't like technology, I divulged my place of employment and my children's names. Doh. Idiot.
So, when the man left, I was feeling a lot more comfortable. (But since he left the way I came, I was pretty certain that I would have to employ those alternate routes home. I was going to be murdered for sure now.)
The park got busier after that. A man showed up with his daughter and an 8 month old Labradoodle. This man was goofy -- equally talkative, climbing all over the play-structure with his little girl while wearing red suspenders and a fisherman's hat covered in buttons. On a scale from 1-10, where buzzed-smoker-dude was a 6-ish on the intimidation scale, suspender-dad registered at a zero. He asked me if he could let the puppy run free and I said it was okay; the puppy was active -- running up to Elliott and licking him. Elliott loved every minute of it. He kept saying, "I pet this dog! I give this dog a stick! Elliott picked this spot to pet the dog."
Then another dad pulled up in a nice, new, shiny truck. He was well-tailored, in expensive sunglasses. His daughter was in tights and a skirt and as soon as they entered the park, that overactive Labradooble ran right up to her and knocked her back. The sunglasses-dad turned to the suspender-dad and made it exceptionally clear that his off-leash dog was unacceptable. He removed his daughter from the play area until the suspender-dad, tail between his legs (dad, not dog), packed up his daughter and his crazy dog, and left the park.
As I watched Elliott turn and say, "Where'd the dog go?", I realized that the sunglass-dad had been a bit of a douche bag. Rude even. I mean, sure, the park rules clearly state that dogs needed to be on a leash, but that dog was over-exuberant perhaps, but not dangerous. I found myself seething about how this was a classic example of entitlement -- that man totally felt like he could walk all over poor suspender-dad.
The other families left for home and it was just me and sunglass-dad. Minding our own kids. Not interacting. And who should show up? Creepy guy. New alcohol. Something to read that came in a dark black bag, and a fresh pack of cigarettes. Creepy guy sat down right next to me and lit up a cigarette. Of course, sunglass-dad had been eye-balling him from the moment he was within 20 yards to the park entrance. And the moment that lighter hit the tip of that cigarette, sunglass man raised his voice. "Hey, look, that lady has a new baby and you're smoking next to her! And that smoke is heading downwind to our kids. Can you go do that somewhere else?"
Two things crossed my mind.
1) If this guy just kills for sport, then I've got to be off the hook now, right?
and
2) Hey, thanks sunglass-dad!
Yeah, that's right. All of a sudden I was relieved that this overbearing controlling macho man was at the park. He might have been rude to the other guy, but I mean suspender-dad
was breaking the rules, right? And then without a word from me, he had stood up for me -- he had told this guy what I wished I had told him, "Get away from the park." But I hadn't told the guy that. I had happily talked about my personal life and smiled, engaged him, and then inwardly worried about escape routes. In short: I was weak. I was worried about offending a guy who probably needed to leave the park. I was worried about my kids, but I was unwilling to do anything about it.
And I didn't like the sunglass-dad when he was picking on a seemingly harmless fellow father. But when he turned his attention to someone
I didn't like, well, then he was my hero.
As I left the park yesterday, I contemplated this. I felt guilty that I couldn't be brave enough to ask the smoking, drinking, porn reading man to leave this family-friendly-kid-oriented play structure. Instead, I felt relieved that a
man showed up to do this for me. Would Matt have asked the guy to leave? No. Probably not. But I still would have felt safer if Matt had been there with me. And twenty-minutes of this social interaction really raises a lot of questions about myself as someone who considers herself pretty progressive in terms of my role as a woman in my family.
But when it comes to sticking up to a guy at a park, I still want a guy to do that for me. I still want to feel protected. I didn't feel safe doing that myself. That isn't to say that I haven't had that role in the past -- but I don't enjoy it. I don't want to be the one to say something; if someone else does it first, I'm usually relieved.
I'm still wrestling with the message that sends my boys. Does it make me look weak? Does it make it look like I let other people do the dirty work? Or does it communicate that someday their role should be protector and guardian? Sunglass dad was trying to protect his own daughter first...I just happened to need the man gone too. I was grateful.
But really when it comes down to it, why do I feel compelled to be kind to strangers? How can I instill a healthy dose of wariness in people we don't know, while also teaching my kids to love and not judge other people? Where is the balance between those things? How can I know when I need to stand up and be the person who tells a guy to leave the park? Is it internalized sexism that makes me feel like that's not my job?
I still haven't figured it out.
Although, based on how quickly he fled the scene to avoid confrontation, I'm pretty sure suspender-dad wouldn't have asked the man to leave either. So, maybe we just all have our roles in life and I should be happy that there are sunglass-dads out there when we need them. But only when
we need them, right? Because until we do, they're all just jerks. Yes, I know how it works. Now I just need to figure out what to do about it as I raise these sons.
What kind of men will they be? That is the only answer that matters.
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