How I Almost Got Into a Fist Fight at the Fair  

It had been the perfect afternoon at the fair. G had ridden dozens of rides, we'd gorged on lots of fried food, and were getting ready to pack up and head home -- just in time for bedtime! -- when G begged for one more ride.

The ride of choice was something called the "Wiggle Worm." It was right next to a giant swing, which she'd ridden four times back-to-back-to-back-to-back. The last time on the giant swing, a little boy about four years old cut her in line. I noticed, but DH and G didn't, so I decided to let it go.

When we headed over to the Wiggle Worm, that same little boy followed us -- this time with his mother in tow. When he tried to push in front of us for the second straight time, I told him we were in line and he could wait behind us.

That's when the trouble began.

The boy's mother asked me if I was in line for the ride. No, I told her, I was standing in line with my daughter. She told me that by doing so, I was messing up the line; if I wasn't riding, I should stand to the side. I told the woman that my daughter was three years old, and I was not comfortable letting her stand by herself. The woman wouldn't it go. She kept saying to everyone who would listen that "this white lady" was holding up the line with increasing volume and anger to her voice.

At this point, other parents started sticking up for me. One grandmother outright told the woman to leave me alone, that I had every right to stand in line with my preschooler, and why did it affect anyone else what I did anyway? I was in line first. As I tried to remain stoic (which is hard for my hot temper), I heard the woman say:

"That stupid b!itch is just doing it cuz she thinks she's better than me."

Now, let's be clear here: I am not stupid. I have two degrees from two of the country's best universities that I think pretty well prove that point. But when a woman picks a fight with me for no real reason, my temper flares up and I tend to act pretty darn stupid.

I am better than you, I started to say. I'm here watching over my child, making sure she doesn't do anything dangerous, making sure she's safe. I'm an almost-Ivy-league grad; I bought my own home at the age of 24; I have a wonderful husband who loves and supports his family (by the way, at this point my husband was trying to usher me away from the provocateur); I was wooed away from my first job for one with a higher salary, better hours and more lucrative benefits; I always pay my credit card bill on time. So yeah sweetheart, I DO think I'm better than you.

Of course, I didn't say that out loud. At that exact moment, G announced to all within a 50-mile radius that she had to go pee pee and we had an excuse to leave the scene, just before I started to rip the woman's weave out in the middle of the midway.

Later that night, though, I started thinking. What gave me the right to think I was better than that woman? The fact that she was obviously from a different socio-economic group? Her marital status? Her vulgar language? Her parenting choices? Or just the fact that she couldn't mind her own business and let me and my family enjoy a nice night at the fair?

In reality, I had no right to think I was better than her -- or anybody else. In fact, maybe if I'd had shown her some compassion -- something I'm afraid she's got painfully little of in her life, especially from "white ladies" like me -- I'd have softened her, if even just slightly.

God's the one -- the only one -- who can decide if someone is better than anybody else; and when it comes down to it, he never makes that distinction. Although he acts as judge, jury and executioner, he never pulls the trigger; he allows saints and sinners through the pearly gates. And even though this woman's behavior wasn't exactly going in the "nice" column in St. Peter's big book, my reaction to her wasn't setting me up for a spot in front of the line on judgment day either.

It can be nearly impossible to swallow hard and take a blow to your ego when the words to defend oneself are so readily available. But showing compassion and a bit more meekness might have served me better in this situation than putting on my Mother Superior habit.