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As the father of a three year old boy who, I am pretty sure, escapes at night to be raised by hyenas, this pretty much sums up my thoughts/emotions when I think about the AP incident (sorry, kinda long):
At the same time, I am raising two kids — my daughter (9) and my son (6) — both of whom were 4 once. If you haven’t raised a child yet, please understand the following things:
1. Kids can be annoying as hell.
2. Kids can be frustrating as hell.
3. Little boys are dumber than little girls.
4. Four-year-old boys might be lovable as hell, but they’re also operating within the perfect storm of “Why did you do that?,” “What are you thinking?,” and “You can never do that again!!!!!” Four-year-old boys will absolutely try to jump down a flight of stairs, dive into the shallow end of the pool, punch you in the balls, inadvertently run across the street when you’re not looking … they are just complete dumb-asses at all times. I have multiple friends who had or have little boys; all of them, at some point, said to themselves, “Wait, is there something wrong with my son?” And I was right there with them.
Sometimes, you have to discipline them so they know right from wrong — mainly so they don’t hurt themselves or someone else, because, again, little boys are lovable dumb-asses. And that’s something every parent handles differently. You can yell, you can scream, you can take away their favorite toy/show/activity, you can even play the spanking card (some do, some don’t). You do whatever it takes to get from Point A to Point B. Within reason.
But HURTING your own kid?
Or leaving still-bleeding-after-six-hours welts all over the lower half of his body?
I mean …
When you’re a parent, you constantly identify with other parents in every situation. You recognize the same defeated looks, you recognize the same look of panic when a parent can’t control a kid in public, you recognize the same look of utter horror on an airplane when a shrieking kid is gaining steam and there are still three hours to go. And on the flip side, when some parental experience is spiraling out of control, you might see a veteran parent glancing your way with one of those “Hang in there, it gets better” looks. There are dozens and dozens of ways you bond with other parents, day in and day out, and that’s just how it goes. It’s almost like an unspoken language that you can’t speak in unless you’ve been there.
For me, the problem with what Peterson did, and everything it represents, is that I fundamentally can’t understand why someone would injure their own kid. My children have injured themselves unintentionally a handful of times. When your child is in pain, it’s just about the craziest experience you will ever have as a human being. It’s like your head comes off your body. When my son was 2, my daughter accidentally slammed a shower door on his index finger and nearly chopped it off. That thing was dangling. And if you’ve ever heard your own child scream in pain and terror, you never forget the sound. You just don’t.
We threw some clothes on him — blood dripping everywhere — and he was crying so hard that his eyes were practically rolling back in his head. If that wasn’t bad enough, my daughter was sobbing and blaming herself for what happened. And everyone was covered in blood. We packed into the car and pulled off a 15-minute drive in about eight minutes. I was weaving between lanes and passing people on the wrong side of the road like a NASCAR driver. It was insane. I wanted to make sure he didn’t lose his finger, but also the crying was just about the worst noise I had ever heard. Four years later, I can still hear it.
And yeah, we saved the finger, and there’s barely even a scar because little kids have healing powers that transcend just about anything. Adrian Peterson’s kid probably won’t have scars, either. That Peterson can live with himself for causing that sound, with no apparent remorse, disturbs the shit out of me. I can’t look at him the same way.
1. Kids can be annoying as hell.
2. Kids can be frustrating as hell.
3. Little boys are dumber than little girls.
4. Four-year-old boys might be lovable as hell, but they’re also operating within the perfect storm of “Why did you do that?,” “What are you thinking?,” and “You can never do that again!!!!!” Four-year-old boys will absolutely try to jump down a flight of stairs, dive into the shallow end of the pool, punch you in the balls, inadvertently run across the street when you’re not looking … they are just complete dumb-asses at all times. I have multiple friends who had or have little boys; all of them, at some point, said to themselves, “Wait, is there something wrong with my son?” And I was right there with them.
Sometimes, you have to discipline them so they know right from wrong — mainly so they don’t hurt themselves or someone else, because, again, little boys are lovable dumb-asses. And that’s something every parent handles differently. You can yell, you can scream, you can take away their favorite toy/show/activity, you can even play the spanking card (some do, some don’t). You do whatever it takes to get from Point A to Point B. Within reason.
But HURTING your own kid?
Or leaving still-bleeding-after-six-hours welts all over the lower half of his body?
I mean …
When you’re a parent, you constantly identify with other parents in every situation. You recognize the same defeated looks, you recognize the same look of panic when a parent can’t control a kid in public, you recognize the same look of utter horror on an airplane when a shrieking kid is gaining steam and there are still three hours to go. And on the flip side, when some parental experience is spiraling out of control, you might see a veteran parent glancing your way with one of those “Hang in there, it gets better” looks. There are dozens and dozens of ways you bond with other parents, day in and day out, and that’s just how it goes. It’s almost like an unspoken language that you can’t speak in unless you’ve been there.
For me, the problem with what Peterson did, and everything it represents, is that I fundamentally can’t understand why someone would injure their own kid. My children have injured themselves unintentionally a handful of times. When your child is in pain, it’s just about the craziest experience you will ever have as a human being. It’s like your head comes off your body. When my son was 2, my daughter accidentally slammed a shower door on his index finger and nearly chopped it off. That thing was dangling. And if you’ve ever heard your own child scream in pain and terror, you never forget the sound. You just don’t.
We threw some clothes on him — blood dripping everywhere — and he was crying so hard that his eyes were practically rolling back in his head. If that wasn’t bad enough, my daughter was sobbing and blaming herself for what happened. And everyone was covered in blood. We packed into the car and pulled off a 15-minute drive in about eight minutes. I was weaving between lanes and passing people on the wrong side of the road like a NASCAR driver. It was insane. I wanted to make sure he didn’t lose his finger, but also the crying was just about the worst noise I had ever heard. Four years later, I can still hear it.
And yeah, we saved the finger, and there’s barely even a scar because little kids have healing powers that transcend just about anything. Adrian Peterson’s kid probably won’t have scars, either. That Peterson can live with himself for causing that sound, with no apparent remorse, disturbs the shit out of me. I can’t look at him the same way.
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