Baby, I Was Born This Way

Comedian Jim Gaffigan wrote a fantastically funny book called “Dad Is Fat” in which he riffs on the perils of his wife and him being outnumbered by five children in a small New York City apartment.

“I’m not saying parenting cured my narcissism, but it changed me and continues to change me every day,” reads one passage. “I am now a teeny bit less of a narcissist.”

No truer words have been spoken.

During the recent three-day stint of warm, springlike weather, Mikey had a playdate at the playground with a bunch of classmates. At one point, one of the kids called another “fat,” to which all of us moms jumped on the name-caller, and it became a whole thing.

Lesson learned, the playdate continued peacefully.

However, when I was driving my now-8-year-old back home, I decided to continue the conversation and asked if ever calls anyone names – like “fat,” “four eyes,” or anything else. He gave me a sheepish “Nah,” which didn’t convince me.

So I pushed further, telling him how hurtful and mean it is to comment on the way someone looks. Well, he piped up from the backseat, “Liam called you fat.”

“Me?” I jabbed a thumb in my sternum, looking in the rearview mirror at my kid.

He nodded.

“The kid down the street called me fat?”

“Yeah. He said his mom is skinny, and you’re fat.”

Now, another version of myself – a younger, childless version – would probably cry at this revelation, but I’ve been scrutinized enough over the past eight years by little uncensored mouths enough to just let it roll right off my back. Instead, I decided to use it as a teachable moment.

“Well, Mikey, that’s exactly why you shouldn’t call people names. That hurts my feelings and makes me feel very sad. Do you like when I feel sad?”

He shook his head and informed me, “Don’t worry, Mom. I told him you were born that way and can’t help it.”

…

Yeah, OK. Let’s go with that answer.

I didn’t know whether to cringe or be proud of my little buddy for (somewhat) defending my honor.

When my husband got home, I relayed the story to him and we had a good laugh. I mean, what else is there to do?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: kids are brutal.

And – spoiler alert – there are no playdates with Liam (or his mother) in our near future.

Holly Crocco is editor of the Putnam County Press/Times and mother of an 8-year-old boy. She can be reached at editorial@putnampresstimes.com.