Porter totally called me out for bad behavior last night. I signed the boys up for UFit, an activity program at the U that pairs up kids that have disabilities with an individual volunteer. Last night was the first night and the building we needed to get to is just north of the Hunstman Center. Upon entering the parking lot I intended to park in, I was greeted by one of four attendants who informed me that there was a gymnastics meet and I needed to be a blah blah blah member or have a blah blah blah pass in order to park there. I quickly explained that I was actually there to attend a program for my kids. He asked if I was just dropping them off, and in hindsight I should have answered yes and then stolen a parking space after they let me in. Instead, I told him that I needed to go in with them to verify registration, complete a parent interview and meet their partners. “Well, then you’ll have to park in the next lot over.”
Ugh. Really? And then a conversation ensued that went something like, “This is ridiculous. I paid for them to participate in this program and I can’t park here?” “That’s right, only blah blah blah members or a blah blah blah pass will work.” “Tonight is the first night, I wasn’t informed that there would be an event here. I was told I would be able to park here.” “Then I suggest you mention that to the program directors.” “I have a four year old in here. You expect me to walk him across campus?” “Unless you have a blah blah blah pass or are a blah blah blah member, then yes, that’s what you’ll have to do.” By this point I’m not quite yelling, but my voice is raised, I’m frustrated, and obviously not happy.
I take a breath, give up for a moment and let him start giving me directions to another lot. I’m trying to clarify, because I don’t want to be driving around campus lost. The next thing I know, another of the four attendants approaches my window and says, “Mam’ you need to leave now.” To which I reply sternly, “I’m trying to figure where I’m supposed to park.” “Oh, are you telling her?” he says to the first attendant. So after I get the directions, I leave, heated and in a hurry. That’s the gist of what happened anyway.
Porter says, “Mom, what’s wrong? You never get that mad. Why were you so mad?” “I’m mad because I wasn’t planning on not being able to park there. The building we need is just right there, now we have to go park somewhere else.” “But you never get that mad.” Then Porter started to get upset and continued to be confused by my behavior. By the time we reached the parking lot, he was shouting, “You’re not my mom!” and on the verge of tears. I parked and told him to get out of the car as I grabbed Parker and then we all started walking. “You’re not my mom!” and then he reached up to me, put his hands around my neck and pulled, but my head not detaching wasn’t proof enough. “Where was I born?” “In West Jordan.” “What hospital?” “Jordan Valley.” “You’re my mom, but why were you being such a brat? ‘I have a four year old in here.’ Why did you say that?”
That’s when I felt a huge mix of emotions, a little embarrassed and ashamed that I behaved in a way that upset and disturbed Porter, yet proud that the actions were so out of character with how he really sees me that I must really be a pretty patient, calm and kind person. In fact, viewed by an outsider, I probably did look like a brat, an entitled adult diva throwing a fit and trying to get her way. And I must give credit to the attendant, because he totally kept his cool, even smiling throughout as he repeated my one and only option as he attempted to direct me elsewhere. If he hadn’t, the conversation would have escalated and then I would have seemed as mean or cruel to others as I did to Porter.
No comments:
Post a Comment