Bad Parent: Friend Alert
I love you, but I hate your kid.
by Madeline Holler
March 22, 2007
Beatrice looked battle-weary after our playdates. I told her to stand up
for herself and sent her back in. Again and again. Meanwhile, I watched
in horror from a safe distance in the company of Lisa. Except for the
sideshow, Lisa and I were having a great time.
Then Evie pushed Beatrice through an archway at the top of a
nine-foot slide. Two hands, one lower back and a giggle: it had been a
totally intentional shove. My daughter managed to grab onto a metal bar
near the opening and avoided plunging head-first into the sand below.
She hung on until I climbed to where I could yank her back up. I plopped
her safely next to me, then turned to face Evie. I grabbed her by the
shoulders, stuck my face in hers and screamed.
The slide was no self-defense lesson for Beatrice. Just a realization in
parenting for me: no more Evie. Of course, that meant there would be a lot less
Lisa, too.
I didn't tell Lisa how I felt about her kid. I couldn't even admit it to
myself. What kind of person who has a three-year-old can hate a
three-year-old? Young kids are, frequently, awful. They don't listen.
They make poor judgments. They're self-centered. Kids are not the least
bit interested in my needs, my hopes, the benefit of wisdom from my
experiences. Evie wasn't actually the only kid that I disliked. I turned down playdates. I made excuses. I could
stand being around the other ones, though. I played with them, laughed
with them, helped them out. I couldn't even look Evie in the eyes. The
pitch of my voice changed when I spoke to her, flattening out, turning
monotone. I couldn't fake it with Evie.
So I turned down playdates. I made excuses. At some point,
between my incessant napping (I was pregnant again) and her nearly
full-time job (Lisa was working again), weeks went by with only phone
calls. Evie now went to morning preschool, Beatrice in the afternoon.
Their opposite schedules were the perfect reason to stay apart.
Just after giving birth, my husband took a job 2,000 miles away. Lisa
was sad. I was too, though my sadness was tempered by the excitement of
moving to a new city. And, frankly, I was relieved there wouldn't be
another endless afternoon with Evie.
Well, maybe one more. Lisa was in a bind for childcare one day shortly
before we moved. She had been so good to me after the baby arrived —
cooking us meals, helping with laundry and, yes, bringing Beatrice home
from preschool. Clearly, I owed her. Anyway, I wanted to help.
©2007 Madeline Holler and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Madeline Holler is a writer and mother of two. She lives in Long Beach, California. |
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