I have to wait in line for my “Worst parent of the year” award

There are these moments when you get to witness a great parent in action.  You are just impressed to the tips of your toes at the way they diffuse a situation or handle an obstacle, or perhaps it’s just a show of love that warms your heart.

This was not one of those moments.

I love Chick-Fil-A for the fact that the kids can go play after they’re done eating and give you few moments to talk to a friend.  We got to do that today and I sat with Natalie, while 5 of our kids ran wild in the playroom…all wonderfully sound-proofed.

We got to watch this drama unfold like a car wreck.

We’ll call him DAD…just that way, in BIG BOLD letters because those are the terms in which he obviously thinks of himself.  A loving dad I’m sure, but DAD….a manly man with a manly son….who we’ll call SON.

SON came out of the playroom in one piece.  There were no ripped clothing, there was no blood or signs of trauma.  Just one perfectly fine SON.  SON tells DAD, “A boy in there hit me.”

DAD’s spine went so rigid I could almost hear the snaps of his vertebrae being over-extended.  He runs to the door and throws it open, yelling the whole time!

“Who hit you! Which one! Was it THAT one!”

I turned in my seat to see which demon of the playroom had committed so foul a crime against SON’s person.  THAT one would surely be obvious by his cigar-smoking and evil mustache twirling appearance.

Now, I want to note that SON was at least 6-7 years old.  And I prayed that when I turned it wasn’t going to be either my 10-year-old or Natalie’s 9-year-old that was THAT one.  But I was even more shocked to realize that THAT one was a 2, maybe 3 year old, cherub with a little tow-headed identical twin.

“WHO. IS. THIS. BOY’S. PARENT?  Where are your parents?”  He starts yelling randomly around the restaurant and then sticks his big, long fingers into THAT one’s little face, who is promptly scared crapless by this strange adult yelling at him.  THAT one’s father comes around the corner and the twins go running to him, one in tears, one just terrified.

Father-of-that-one tries to talk to DAD.  At which point DAD goes OFF!

“Your son blah blah blah, and my son blah blah blah.”  I’m watching DAD rip into Father-of-that-one…Son has moved on to play, so apparently traumatized by the whole event that he needs to go for a ride down the slide. And DAD continues to berate Father for the accused assault.  After the butt-chewing has ended, DAD has blown off all his steam, he’s rendered two toddlers incoherent in fear and forced an entire restaurant to listen to his “I am king of the buttheads, listen to me roar” performance, he utters the words that threw Natalie and myself into complete ironic meltdown.

“My SON is VERY sensitive.”

Must come from his mother’s side.