Our parent education class ended for the year, and we actually have an entire Friday free. With no desire to sit around and make unsuccessful attempts at cleaning the house I set my sights on a trip to the park.
Our nice quiet park where there are very few escape routes, plenty of shade trees, and more often than not many familiar faces.
Getting everyone fed dressed and shod takes an hour longer than I had originally anticipated but I will myself to remain calm as I don’t want to start the day tense.
But apparently tension was scheduled to arrive just ten minutes after leaving the house.
We arrive at the park to discover not one, but two school field-trips have invaded!
Not only invaded but brought over one hundred fifth and sixth graders with them.
As I unload my crew (complete with a bicycle for the big guy) I go over the rules,
NO running away.
NO going where I can’t see you.
OR…
“We go home…” The big guy answers.
While the twins jump with excitement in their seats, not even acknowledging the sound of my voice.
With everyone out of the car I turn and face the situation at hand.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try the other park with the track that goes all the way around?”
A kid on a bike three times the size of my four year old zooms past his toes.
“No I want to race, him!”
The thought of having to wrestle everyone back into their car-seats while trying to tune out ear shattering screams is more than I can process. And besides they’re already loose. I need to focus on keeping everyone within sight.
So, we stay.
The Big Guy (which turns out to be a bit of an ironic name for today) happily pedals his bike up and down the sidewalk. With a little mona lisa smile on his face. Alternately dodging racing and barely missing a crash with the other, monstrously larger, vehicles.
And the twins, they couldn’t have cared less about the giant sized kids thumping around beside them. Up the stairs down the slides, just like always. The fact that they barely even reach the top of these kids’ knee caps doesn’t even phase them.
And then, the big guy spots a basketball game on the half court a few yards from the playground.
I see him wandering that way and ask him where he’s going.
“Basketball.”
“Are you sure? Those kids are big and so is their ball.”
“I have one like that and its not too big.”
“OK just be careful.”
He takes off running and jumps into the game like he’s known these kids for years.
And the kids don’t seem to take notice.
The game just goes on.
But then someone passes the ball to a girl in a pink shirt.
I hadn’t thought she was an adult ’til she props the ball and her hip, puts her other hand on my son’s arm and directs him towards the edge of the court.
His head falls, he spots me and comes running with tears in his eyes.
“She said no. She said I can’t play.”
By the time he gets to me I already have one of the twins in my arms.
I spot the other one and scoop him up from the feet of another adult that seems to be with the same group.
I fire off a “warning shot” just to give her the heads up on what I’m about to talk to her colleague about.
And with one toddler under each arm and a very hurt preschooler in tow I march into the middle of the game that suddenly stops around me.
“Is there a problem with my son playing basketball? He tells me you said he can’t play.”
“No, I just told him to be careful.”
My son would not have come running to me if someone had told him to be careful. I cut her off at every attempt to flip flop on her story.
I don’t want to be mean, but at the same time I will not let anyone tell any of my children they can’t do something. (apart from the obvious illegal and lifethreatening)
And so finally, “If you are in a public park then your game is public. If you want to keep it to yourself then go back to your school.”
I turn to my son and tell him he can play if he wants to.
He jumps back in like nothing ever happened.
I watch him from a distance because I also still have the two fearless toddlers to watch and entertain as well. If we hang out too close to the court they’re going to want to play too. And I kind of draw the line at 2 yr olds vs 12 yr olds.
He gets bumped a few times.

He's the little green one under the net.

But, someone helps him up and he carries on.
After a while he gets bored of not getting much time with the ball.
And the big kids get bored with him not shooting or dribbling once he has it. Too afraid to risk losing it. So, the game fizzles out.
The girl in the pink shirt has some gossip about the crazy mother that let her four year old play basketball with twelve year olds.
And I have pictures of my brave guy giving it his best shot!