Sandbox Stand Off

DAILY SNACK

I dragged the kids to the local dollar store,

Looking for cheap boxes in which to organize my pantry.

For months now, in the lead up to and the aftermath of the move,

They have been carted around and prodded through all manner of big box hardware stores, furniture shops, and assorted salvage joints.

I know that they’re sick of it.

So when Colum asked if he could get a little turtle with a wobbly head,

And it was less than $2,

I couldn’t say no.

We took the turtle to the park where Colum played in the sandbox,

Eyeing a couple other boys his age who were building an elaborate road.

He watched how they were interacting,

And then leaned forward and started to walk his turtle toward their road.

One of the boys asked what it was that he had and knocked the turtle on his head.

“Be careful,” Colum said, “It’s my turtle.”

Again, the boy bonked the turtle — harder this time.

“Hey. Take it easy. You don’t want to break it,” said Colum.

I played with Irene and left them to resolve things on their own.

Then the boy ripped the turtle’s head right out,

(It is easily removed and replaced.)

And snatched the rest of the turtle away from my son.

Colum got up and ran over to the play structure and started going down the slide.

And I know, I know, exactly how he’s feeling.

I can taste the confusion and the rejection and the loss of his prized new toy.

I can feel his insecurity.

But now I am the adult and I know that he did nothing wrong.

Forget wrong.

He didn’t even do anything weird.

So I calmly approach the boy who is now filling up the hollow turtle’s body with sand,

And ask for the turtle.

“I’m playing with it right now,” he tells me.

“Actually, that is Colum’s turtle and he was playing with it. He asked you not to touch it, but you grabbed it anyway. So I’m going to keep it safe for him now. Thank you.”

And I thought childhood was hard the first time around.