It often begins in a seemingly harmless way — you might notice a family enjoying a leisurely walk, attending a service at church, or bustling through the aisles of a grocery store. Then, for some reason, your brain jumps to the conclusion that a cute child or baby is an invitation for physical contact, whether it be a hug, a poke, or a grab.
Hey there, don’t touch my kid.
I’m genuinely baffled by what makes you think it’s acceptable to reach out and touch my child (or any child, for that matter). Are you so starved for affection that you seek connection with any child who catches your eye? Do you feel overlooked by your peers and think the easiest way to draw attention is by invading someone else’s personal space? Is this something that was acceptable “back in the day”? Or did someone actually tell you that it’s perfectly fine to hug, kiss, or squeeze any kid you find adorable (who is that person, anyway?)?
Regardless of your reasoning, I honestly don’t want to know. Yet when I try to instill the principle of bodily autonomy in my children, I’m met with gasps, sighs, and offended expressions.
Seriously, don’t touch my kid.
When you invade a family’s space by touching their child without permission, you’re clearly not considering their circumstances. You’re not thinking at all. Unless you have an intimate relationship with this family, you have no idea what challenges they might be facing — the medical issues they deal with on a daily basis.
When I find myself spending ten long hours in the emergency room with my child, who has severe kidney disease and is running a dangerously high fever, I mentally replay every possible scenario that could explain how he caught this illness. I reach out to friends, the babysitter, and even his speech therapist, desperately trying to figure out if he touched something unsanitized during our grocery trip. I pray for capable medical professionals and hope that the surgeon responds to my late-night calls on a Sunday.
Then I remember you. The person at church, the store, or perhaps our neighborhood who decided to touch my child. You had no clue he had just undergone his tenth kidney surgery in two years or that he suffers from chronic kidney disease. But how could you? You never bothered to speak to me. Yet, you approached my child, asking for a hug or offering some random item from your purse or attempting to pinch his cheeks. I recall how you scoffed when I pulled my child away and said, “No, thank you.” Your eye-rolls and huffing stuck with me.
When I have to hold my child tightly to take a catheterized urine sample or wrap him up like a mummy for a blood draw, I think of you. When he screams and turns purple in distress, I think of you. When he looks at me with tears streaming down his face, pleading for it to stop, I think of you.
I think of you, and I hold onto a deep resentment. But more than that, I despise myself for feeling like I’ve failed to protect my child once more.
You may want to argue — “you can’t know where the illness originated,” or “you can’t shield him from everything.” But I assure you, anyone who has said that to me has never witnessed their child lying lifeless in a hospital bed.
My children will be taught to confidently say “no thank you” or to offer a fist bump instead of a hug. You might find that offensive if you know us, and it could still bother you if you don’t. But this isn’t about you.
So, hey, don’t even think about touching my kid.
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In summary, it’s crucial to respect a child’s personal space and the boundaries set by their parents. Every family faces unique challenges, and understanding this can foster a more respectful environment for everyone.
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