By Heather Sadlemire

I tried to ignore the smell of feet and the knowledge that we were, no doubt, surrounded by pathogens hellbent on taking our lives. Instead, I focused on the giggles coming from my 5-year-old and a couple of her best friends as they scurried around the indoor play area: scaling foam mountains, swimming through plastic balls and swooshing down slides. When we go to birthday parties in a place like this, I typically choose to be an observer. (If I succumb to the pathogens, who will douse her with hand sanitizer before she gets back in the car?) But this day, she was able to convince me to come in and play. (I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to roll myself through the foam wringer, Double Dare style.)

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I waited on the second level of the climber, watching my daughter take turns down the slide and observing various classmates flying past me. One of her friends was picking up foam balls to launch down at his father. This seemed like a task I was interested in assisting. Out of nowhere, a child we didn’t know (and dressed as Superman) ran up to him and knocked his stockpile out of his hand. I shot this little boy a Mom Look, but he wasn’t a kid I knew, so I didn’t say anything; instead, I helped our friend re-collect his weapons.

Approximately five minutes later, my daughter ran over to me, crying. “A boy in a Superman cape shoved me really hard and I fell down the slide!”

Now I was pissed.

I determined that the only thing hurt was her pride, her confidence a little rattled. I told her it was ok to be upset and to take some slow breaths to settle down. I then told her that it’s not cool for ANYONE to put their hands on her. And that I wanted her to let Superman know that.

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“Will you stand behind me when I say it, Mama?” she asked. Our daughter is the type of child who will leave a trail of breadcrumbs for a stray ant because she feels worried it may not eat in its search to find its family. So, for her to even want to address this kid was enough for me to agree.

We waited in an alcove near the entrance to the second layer and watched as he ascended. Remember when Scut Farkus jumps out at Ralphie and his friends in A Christmas Story? So, that, but Scut Farkus is now a preschooler in a glittery gold tutu.

“Hey!” she yelled, startling Superman. “Don’t EVER push me!” Superman stopped running. He was startled. He didn’t apologize before he continued on his path, but she may have made an impact. She gave me a thumbs off before taking off to explore some tunnels. I walked past Superman, who was waiting his turn for the slide. (Pushing his way to the front was noticeably absent.)

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“Hey – we keep our hands to ourselves,” I reminded him in the Scary Parent Whisper all children have come to fear. He vigorously nodded his head in agreement.

Later that night, I wondered if my reaction would have been different if my daughter had been a boy. Would I have encouraged a son to confront a child? Would I have reminded a son that nobody has a right to put their hands on him and if they did, he needs to voice how that’s not ok? Or was I projecting onto a daughter my 33 years of experiences as a woman? Was I overcompensating because in the 90s, when a boy shoved a little girl, we were told it was “because he liked us,” and that’s ABSOLUTELY not the message I want her to grow up internalizing?

I’d like to think my reaction would have been the same regardless of my kid’s gender. Either way, I got to revel in this small victory with my child. Someone wronged her, she said her piece, perhaps changed how Superman would behave the rest of the day, and was able to continue having a fun time. If only life were that simple for all women.

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About the Author

Heather Sadlemire is a marketing director and New York native (of the upstate variety) who covers the last few pages of a good book with her hands so that she doesn’t skim ahead and ruin the ending. In between scouring the clearance racks at Target and stalking Kristen Bell’s social feeds, she performs Disney numbers for her daughter (a preschooler who doesn’t object) and husband (who knew what he was getting into when he put a ring on it.) Follow her on Twitter and Instagram.