Someone's Got to Be the Bad Guy - Right?!

Because tantrums in Target stop being cute and become disturbing the peace — real fast.

18 Months

Dear Myles,

Sometimes I feel like I have to be the bad guy.

Like when I tell your mother, “Don’t go in there,” if it takes you a little longer than usual to fall asleep at bedtime. “He’ll think that every time he cries, you’ll bust right in his room, and then he won’t go to bed. He’ll be up all night,” I go on. I’m not proud of those words, but listen, somebody has to do it.

Someone’s got to be the bad guy who tells her to stop picking you up every time you reach out your hands—you’ll get spoiled. But the moment those stupid words leave my lips, I remember: one day will be the last time we ever pick you up. That’s why we should cherish these fleeting moments, holding on to memories we’ll never get back.

But someone’s got to be the bad guy, right?

I’m not sure if I’m being the bad guy or if this is a response to trauma—conflating your simple desire for love with the idea of being spoiled. I know full well that there’s no such thing as spoiling a child. The truth is, deep down, all of us—myself included—wish someone had held us a little longer when we were young. Maybe our hearts would be a little softer, a little more tender, a little more forgiving if someone had treated us with the love we always deserved and needed—if only our hearts had been kneaded with care.

See, I want to pick you up every time you reach your hands up too. When you fall, I want to kiss every spot that hurts because gravity shows no grace—not even for a little child. I even wanted to hike that other kid across the playground—yup, the one who took the ball from you that day. But I’m more worried about the consequences of you not learning what this world can really take something from you if you don’t respond accordingly.

I’m worried about when the world’s cute aggression—the “he’s just so cute; I just want to bite him”—shifts to passive ones, like a woman crossing the street when she sees you at night or when fingers touch triggers because “every Black boy is just another…”