I ran away from the park yesterday. The park that I take my son to on occasion. We had rode his bike to this facility about 6 blocks from where we live - per his request - when I noticed from the corner of my eye (part of my stealthy scan of our surroundings to detect any food threats) a 10 year old running around with a shelled peanut in his mouth pretending to be a squirrel. I freaked out. I couldn't attach the child to any parent - and thankfully, because after a hard day at work I felt it brewing. "How can you be so insensitive as to let your child run around with that thing in their mouth? How? Does that make sense? Don't you realize how dangerous that is? Don't you...." But alas, these things are only dangerous to the likes of us. I remember how peanut used to taste. I even enjoyed the salty shells - licking them. The taste - inane, a dull sort of splay across the mouth with that distinctive roasted undertone - or overtone if you got a really brown one. And now I flee from these things.
I know I wasn't at my best yesterday when I fled the park with him. I couldn't negotiate with him - he was rapidly transforming into his willful 3 year old self - so I did what I regret doing and said:
"We need to get out here there's a peanut in that boys mouth."
I can hear the therapy bills now.
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