The other day my husband told me that on one of his visits to the park with the little ones (without me) a little boy, who my husband said must’ve been 5 or so, and with whom my 3.5 year old wanted to play with looked at him and said, “I don’t want to play with you, you’re fat!”

When my husband told me that my stomach got a sick feeling.  My heart filled with rage and I asked him, “Did you tell the little shit he was ugly?  Did you tell his parents that their piece of shit kid just insulted our child?  What did you do?!?!” Yup..rage.

My Midwestern husband, with his laid back personality looked at me in silence. “Well?  What did you say?”  ”Nothing. (3.5 yr old) didn’t even understand what he said to him and we just went to play some where else.”

I was furious.  And I will admit, even as I write this I am furious…and sad.  My son IS NOT FAT. He is larger, taller, stronger than the average 3.5 year old.  He also more articulate, super funny, witty, and sweeter than the average 3.5 year old.  

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My dad likes to tell the story about how when I was 4 or 5 he took me to the doctor and the doctor told him I was fat and that I needed to be put on a diet.  I have heard that story so many times in my life, embellished each time he tells it, and he loves to tell it in front of me, to remind me that I was always fat, always ugly.

So, when it comes to my child, who again IS NOT FAT, and hearing other nasty, rude, ill-mannered bullies put my kid down, it makes me angry, but sad that I won’t always be there to defend them, protect them, block them from the nastiness that will chip away at that innocence I adore so much.  My 3.5 year old believes he is beautiful.  So much so that he’ll say things like, “Mama, I heart my beautiful finger” or “Mama, can you brush my beautiful hair?” or “Mama, I brushed my beautiful teeth!”.  This is because I have convinced him that he and his brothers are beautiful.  Not just on the outside, but on the inside.  I make sure to point out when they do something insensitive or mean and talk extensively to them about how words are hurtful and can be negative or positive, depending on how they use them.

I wish that I could teach them to not be hurt by the words of others, I wish I could fill them up with all the self confidence and self love in the world so that they are never put down by someone else’s ignorance and intolerance. But I am not sure if I can, I am not sure if what I have to teach them and give them will be enough.

Here’s The Skinny: I don’t know what I would’ve done had I been in my husband’s place that day.  I say that I would have broken the child’s spirit, made him cry. I say that I would’ve gone straight to his parents and told them what a horrid monster their child is and that I’m sure it has everything to do with them…I say that as I pace angrily in my living room hurt that someone tried to hurt my boy’s feelings, but I don’t know.  I would’ve said something, maybe just not so harsh…because in the end I know that sticks and stones hurt…but mean words leave scars that can last forever.