Somedays I hate the playground. Most frustratingly, I tend to hate the playground the worst on the days Ben loves it the best—those with the most kids.

Sand in my jeans, sand in my house, the possibility of falling off the ladder or running into a swinging child, the sometimes sharp toys brought by kids, the food I forgot to bring (oh, but how nice that everyone shared today), eating the wood chips, falling off the bench, trying to climb the fence and splitting open a chin, having to make small talk with some of the more intimidating moms and nannies. All these things are worth the fun we normally have.

But there’s one thing that makes my heart race. It’s going to sound ridiculous, and it’s not what you think. But I hate when a mom goes to sit or stand right next to her kid when he or she is playing with Ben.

I tend to hang back. I don’t think Ben needs my constant presence, and I like him being able to interact with other kids without me, able to solve his own smaller problems. And if another kid takes a toy Ben’s playing with he’ll usually either grab another to play with, try to take it back, or come to me. I’ll step in if there’s a problem: a crying kid, any sort of hitting. I leave it alone otherwise.

But we’ve had problems with other moms stepping in too early and causing a problem. The worst was over an airplane. A really, really cool airplane. A boy brought it and was playing with it in the sandbox. Because his mom was right on top of him I decided to sit near them on the sandbox rim. Ben asked very nicely (signing and speaking his little “pEEAse!”) and was told by the mom that he could use it when her son was done. He sat waiting and watching the kid play with airplane for a good 5 or 6 minutes. Then the kid put it to the side and started digging in the sand. Ben took the toy and was having a great time making airplane noises and playing gently. The other mom got off the phone and saw him, I had made a phone call so I wasn’t paying that much attention, but I heard her ask her kid if he wanted his airplane back. And then took it from Ben and handed it over. Ben was FURIOUS! And who could blame him? He did exactly what he was told to do, waited patiently, and wasn’t hurting anyone. All that work and someone changed the rules.

I almost decked her. How could she be such a flaming asshat? Her kid hadn’t even seemed to notice. And Ben hadn’t run off with it or anything; they were playing right next to each other.

I tried interesting Ben in something else, I tried getting him onto the slide, but nothing was calming him down. So we had to leave. And I wish that I had said something, even now, weeks later. Her kid was at least a year older than Ben, much more mature and vocal, though the same size. And I know that people assume Ben is about 3 or so, since he’s the same size as most 3-year-olds at the park, and they expect him to act a little older, but even still, this was an awful thing to do.

The other time doesn’t really seem as bad to me, though when I put it in words people seem to get more upset about it. Ben was throwing sand. And I was two steps away to stop him when a nanny grabbed his hand and told him “no.” He wasn’t close enough to get any kid with the sand, though I was still going to stop him. It really wasn’t necessary for someone else to step in. I don’t approve of other people disciplining my kid unless we know them or there’s danger involved, for him or another kid. Okay, not exactly true, she could have told him not to throw the sand, but don’t touch my kid. If there’d been even one other kid in the sandbox I would have understood.

Anyway, I’m always worried about these lines being crossed. I worry that I’m not doing a good enough job parenting my kid, that I’m letting him be too much on his own and pissing off the other parents. I don’t know if I’m right or wrong in this situation. I don’t know if I’m being unfair to the other kids. But 90% of the time Ben and the other kids get along well, it’s only when the other people step in that we’ve had issues.

Where are your boundaries? Am I wrong about the airplane? Would you have taken it away? I know I would have if Ben had grabbed it or the other kid had been really upset. Without thinking, it would have gone back to the kid. But I never would have given it back to Ben if it had been his toy. We share. And he needs to learn that. Maybe the kid has developmental issues, it’s what I’ve been telling myself, but I still don’t understand bringing it up if both kids were happily playing.

As a child I wasn’t treated as well as we all should be. I don’t think that it’s necessary to get into it in detail, but it’s something that I think I need to say. It affects me every day that I spend with Ben. It’s a whisper in my ear for every decision that I make. Basically it’s important for me to tell you this, even if it isn’t important to you.

I don’t let Ben cry. I don’t think that people who let their children cry-it-out are bad people. I believe that is a decision each family needs to make for itself. But we don’t let Ben cry. I have this fear that mistreating a child is a little like alcoholism, and so, just as I don’t drink alone or ever have more than one drink in a sitting, I don’t let Ben cry. This doesn’t mean I think people who let their children cry are mistreating their children any more than I think people who have an occasional drink alone or order two drinks at a bar are alcoholics. I’m just afraid that there’s a slippery slope for some of us.

Another example: I am afraid of people who yell at their kids.

I am not a coward. I apologize too much, and I may be timid at times, but I am not a coward.

Really.

But when someone yells in my presence I have a desire to run away. It doesn’t matter if they’re yelling at a dog or merely to have their voice heard across the street. Every muscle in my body tightens up and I can feel my heart beat in my throat. And with Ben it is worse. If Ben is near me I suddenly have a keen understanding of where each and every exit is, where the crowd is thinnest, where that tree is that I might hide behind.

I think I can get over this. I think I can prevent myself from passing along this fear to Ben. Although, please don’t take this to mean that it’s okay to yell in my presence. I really don’t find it an effective form of communication.

What really scares me, what gives me nightmares is yelling myself. I worry about losing control and kicking in a door. Or hitting him. Or knocking him down. Or telling him “y’know, I wanted a life, too.” I have lost control of my anger in the past. And, like being drunk, the moment isn’t ever too clear in my memory. Mostly it was during high school and college, the only recent time being after one of the cats took a swipe at Ben when he was a tiny, tiny baby (you may have noticed I don’t speak of my cats anymore, they’re in good loving homes now).

I believe I’m more in control of my emotions now. And I’ve never hurt anyone. But I’m terrified of it anyway. I can’t imagine anyone ever thinking they had the capacity to hurt a child. I can’t imagine that if anyone loved a child as much as I love Ben that they could ever lose control of their anger, but I know that it happens every day. Can you really say, without a shadow of a doubt, that it could never be you if you know that it’s possible for other people?

And every little thing that Ben does reminds me of a parallel in my own childhood. And I thought that would make it bad, like picking at a really old scab or re-breaking a bone. Honestly? There’s a relief in it. Maybe it’s that each day with Ben I’m able to rewrite memories of what childhood is, even if it isn’t my own. Maybe it’s that I don’t need to remember that stuff anymore. Maybe it’s the feeling that I’m breaking that cycle. Maybe it’s just that I enjoy every minute of every day so much that there isn’t any room for anything worse less than that.

And these are the things that go through my head. These are the things that I’m really trying to share when I talk about values. And I have been trying for months now to figure out how to write this without embarrassing my family, whom I love. But these things need to be written. Because I need to figure out the mathematical principles of love and discipline, of safety, security, and boundaries. I need to learn how to hold on to my children without crushing them, and the formula wasn’t written down for me by my own parents.

I just finished Big Lessons for Little People, which is amazing. It’s sort of the whole reason for this post. There’s a section that talks about parents afraid to yell at their kids and all the damage that may cause. It’s amazing. I really think that just about everyone should read it, even if you don’t agree with everything she says.