Rocking the headband
by digby
I don’t know if this story is true but if it is, it’s just sick. It is about a little 2 year old boy named Dexter who likes to dress up in costumes: Batman, Superman, Spiderman etc, like at least a dozen other little kids that age I know. He also likes to play dress up in his mom’s clothes.
Here’s where the story gets really insane:
After struggling to get him dressed and get his shoes on, I had to pry an overlarge teddy bear out of Dexter’s arms, as he was set on taking him with us. This brought on tears and tantrums, which I somehow managed to calm very quickly. But when I attempted to remove my discarded lace flower headband from his head (which he’d been wearing all day), I saw him getting ready to fight, so I left him to it. Who was he hurting?
We got to the store, and amazingly I managed to get him to sit in the shopping cart with no issues. The fact that he was wearing a cute girly headband made him feel good, and he was charming all the old ladies by waving like a little pageant prince. I snapped his photo after two old birds came up to tell me just how adorable he was.
He rocked that headband.
Soon enough, we were done with our shop and were making our way toward the front. As we passed through the produce section, two teenage girls began giggling and one of them asked, “Is that a boy or a girl?” I smiled and said, “He’s a boy.” I looked on at him adoringly as they continued to giggle.
Out of nowhere a big booming voice rang out. “THAT’S a BOY?!” The man was overly large with a bushy beard and a camouflage shirt with the arms cut off. He had tattered shorts and lace-up work boots with no laces. I could smell the fug of cigarette smoke surrounding him, and there was a definite pong of beer on him.
“Yes,” I said simply, still smiling.
With no notice, the man stepped forward, grabbed the headband off of Dexter’s head and threw it to the bottom of our shopping cart. He then cuffed Dexter around the side of his head (not hard, but that is not the point) and said with a big laugh, “You’ll thank me later, little man!”
At the same time as I stepped forward, Dexter grabbed his head where the man had smacked him and threw his other hand forward, stomping his foot and shouting, “NO!” I got between my son and this man and said very firmly, “If you touch my son again, I will cut your damn hands off.”
The guy snarled at me, looked at Dexter with disgust and said, “Your son is a f*cking fa***t.” He then started sauntering out, but not before he threw over his shoulder, “He’ll get shot for it one day.”
I stood there, shaking, fists clenched, waiting for the man to disappear out the door, and then I fell apart. I was shaking so hard, holding back tears and comforting Dexter.
Not a single person said or did anything. There were several people who had witnessed the encounter, but not one of them came over to offer support or console me or my son.
Let me repeat to you: Dexter is 2 YEARS OLD.
I was there with a 2-year-old and a 5-month-old baby, and my kid had been verbally and physically assaulted by a man. And no one did a thing.
I particularly like the “he’ll get shot for it one day” part.
I don’t think this sort of thing is common although it was when I was a kid. At least half of the “ittakes a village” ethos of the time was people shaming boys and girls about not being boyish or girlie enough. I had a little friend when I was about 5 and we liked to play dress up in my mom’s cast offs. One day his grandfather saw him wearing jewelry and lipstick (as was I) and gave him a brutal spanking right on the spot. It seemed to be as much of a show for my parents as anything else — the man was deeply embarrassed. I’ll never forget it. I’m sure he didn’t either.
I’m so relieved this sort of thing is changing, even if it does still happen from time to time. There was a time when most mothers would have refused to allow her son to wear that funny headband in public. But I see kids dressed up in wild stuff all the time these days. Grown-ups too, for that matter. Like grown men wearing camo shirts and cutoffs with lace-less work boots. Although I must admit I haven’t seen that one since I lived in San Francisco circa 1981.
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