Is It Okay to Discipline Someone Else’s Child?

nowirehangers

The picture will make more sense after you read the post:)

I was standing in a cashier line at a clothing retailer yesterday when I felt a sudden burst of taps against my butt. I turned around and looked down to find a child holding a metal clothes hanger. He was smacking the hanger against the accessory displays that lined the cashier aisle. I assumed the child had tapped me with the hanger. The child’s attention seemed to be directed elsewhere so I turned my own attention back to my iPhone while I waited. A minute later I felt a second round of taps against my butt. It was the same child.

I glanced around my immediate vicinity and noticed a young woman on the opposite side of the accessory display. An empty child stroller stood in front of her.

Ah ha. I found the mom.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” I said.

The woman looked at me.

“Is this your child?”

She looked at the boy for a second and then back at me. “Yeah, why?”

“He’s hitting me with a clothes hanger. Could you ask him to stop please?”

“He’s a child,” she replied.

“I’m well aware of that. That’s why I’m speaking to you.”

“What’s the issue here?”

“Normally I don’t mind being spanked on the ass but not by a 4 year-old kid. Can you retrieve him, please.”

The woman became defiant. “It’s a wire hanger. It won’t hurt anything. And in case you haven’t noticed, my son has developmental limitations. You can’t expect him to behave like other children.”

“I hadn’t noticed. In fact, the only developmental limitations I’ve observed are the ones being emitted from you.”

“What did you call me?”

“Nothing yet. But there’s still 9 people ahead of me so there’s plenty of time for me to test my vocabulary on you.”

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business,” she snapped.

“I was until I had to defend my anal cavity from a coat hanger.”

“I don’t appreciate that vulgar language around my child.”

“You’re wearing a sweatshirt that reads I’m the Boss Bitch. You can stop playing the victim card.”

The kid must have been upset that I was in a verbal kerfuffle with his mom. He whacked me with the hanger again. This time on the knee.

I looked at the mom. “Pay attention if you want any prayer of being a decent mom.” I gently removed the hanger from the child’s hand and stared down at him.

“Kid, I’m going to give you likely the best advice you’ll receive in your life, apart from telling you to not grow up to be like your mom.”

I clenched the wire hanger in one hand and pursed my lips in my best Joan Crawford imitation. “NO.. WIRE… HANGERS!”