N------, or Let's talk about what happened in the park.

I've been a teacher for many years, and I've found that sadly, there are some kids that are just a@#holes. They are little a@#holes, and they probably grow up to be big A@#holes.

Another thing you should know is that my 9 year old son is regularly mistaken for an 11 or 12 year old. He's big for his age, and muscled and strong looking. He carries himself like a little man sometimes. A little, black man.

Yesterday was the last day of school and to celebrate I took the kids to the park to blow of their end-of-June steam. The sprinklers were on, and it was glorious. Daniel and his best friend promptly took off their shirts and got wonderfully soaked.  Lily raced around and I sat and chatted with a couple of moms I knew. Lovely, lovely.

At one point, I thought I heard Daniel shout. But I didn't see anything.

Then a few minutes later I looked up, and I saw my son - his 9 year old muscles clenched, head down, his broad brown back tense, his steps quickening and his fights tightening as he walked towards another kid- the little a@#hole, whom I knew from previous nasty experiences and who was taunting him with a water gun.

And then I was sprinting through the park, screaming "Daniel!" through this peaceful, happy little park. I screamed, and he came to me and he was safe. I heard mutterings of other parents around me, like "What was that?!" But they didn't see what I saw. They saw two boys having a water fight. I saw my son getting angry and going to hit the other kid. I saw my son (who did not have a water gun) being taunted. In my mind's eye, in an instant, I saw a fight. I saw cops, I saw Trouble. I saw Death.

This is not an exaggeration. This is why I sprinted across a peaceful park screaming. I must have looked insane.

Then the a@#hole kid taunted again, saying, "oooh, your mom got you in trouble." and I shouted at him to "Stay away from my kid!" Then I really looked insane.

I am normally a very laid back parent. My kids get into all kinds of scrapes and "learning situations." They get stuck on the top of the monkey bars. Their water balloons pop early. I don't go running. But my black son cannot get into fights. I've learned, because I watch the news and I know the stats, that black kids fighting is NO.  So I shut it down. I screamed for him and he came (and his bewildered friend). I looked in his angry, exhausted eyes and said, "I'm not mad at you. You are ok. I want you to stay away from that kid."

Daniel's sweet friend (who is not black) piped up, "That kid is mean!"

I said, "I know. Why don't you guys go play over there?" and pointed to the far ball field, which was empty.

They trotted off. I sat down and tried to slow my heart.

Later that night, Daniel told us that the kid had been racist.

I asked him, "Did he call you a nasty word?"

"Yes," Daniel replied.

"Do you want to tell me?"

"NO." said Daniel. "I'm not saying that."

So I knew.

It was a historic day, yesterday. A beautiful, historic day for America, which sorely needed a happy day.

 But in our family, a sadder milestone. Because some kid called my son a n-----er, and I was not surprised, and neither was he.