The Danger of Strangers
“NO! Put him DOWN!” I yelled at the kind Asian woman. Clearly she didn’t understand my plight nor the hard lessons it takes to raise a young African American boy.
It had been a long week. In between work, my side job, school and ministry, the week had just blown past me. With eight or nine loads of clothing piled up in the corner of my room there was no way I was going to spend my entire Saturday doing one load at a time, so I decided to take a trip to the local laundromat. Not only had I been preoccupied with my own work this week I kind of felt guilty for not spending any one on one time with my three-year-old so I figured this would also be a great time for he and I to share. After all I would be at the laundromat no less than three hours and I could knock out two birds with one stone. Spend quality time with my son, engaging him with counting quarters for the machines and teaching him to sort colors. It would be educational plus more practice for dexterity and discipline for him. At age three he had been having a hard time with obeying adults, just wanting a sense of freedom I suppose. His early development teacher assured me that this was natural at this age, as he truly believes he should “run it”. But nevertheless, he would get out of the house for a few hours and I would feel a sense of pride about myself having completed at least one of my tasks for the day with this laundry.
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