What's the Deal With Park Etiquette?
What’s the deal with park etiquette? I am familiar with gym etiquette, road cycling etiquette, wedding etiquette and driving etiquette. (Though I am not saying I necessarily follow the driving etiquette. I’m a Rhode Island-ah, after all.) But parent/child social interaction is largely virgin territory for me. I’m not talking about the stuff you’re thinking of; a simple Google search of ‘park etiquette parents’ turned up obvious pointers, like supervise your child, don’t bring a sick kid to the park, and be respectful. Instead, I’m wondering how friendly or unfriendly are you supposed to be with the other parents/caregivers, because yesterday it was all awkward starfish at the neighborhood park.
It started out normal. We rolled up, and upon sweet exile from her stroller, Sweet Pea was all about the gravel. The climbing structures? The swings? The miniature house? Not even on her radar. As far as Sweet Pea was concerned, we were at an All You Can Eat Gravel Buffet. She was hitting the gravel hard, and going back for seconds, thirds and fourths, oblivious to my repeated imperative, “Not in your mouth!”
And then she caught sight of the other kid, and the gravel was nothing more than a distant memory. Sweet Pea ambled up the concrete stairs with laser sharp focus; her eyes on the little girl with the bear hat, yelling, “Ha! Ha! Haey! Hi! Hi!” until she caught the girl’s attention. Their eyes locked. From a distance of eight feet, with only the plastic walls of a miniature house between them, they were caught in each other’s gaze. Sweet Pea was grinning her (mostly) toothless grin, while the little girl stood silently with a shy smile.
I smiled, first at the child, and then at the adult companion (presumably the mother). But she would not make eye contact. I said hi. She did not engage. Now, I’m not looking for a new best friend. Or even a park buddy. Or anything, really. Seriously, not even a babysitter or a tax accountant. I’m good with all that. But what do you do when your child is engaged in a staring contest to end all staring contests, she’s too little and too unsteady to be so close to concrete stairs for you to walk away, and the parent of the other child won’t acknowledge your existence with even the vaguest hint of a nod?
Believe me, I get wanting to let your child roam free in a safe area while you catch up on email, Google Reader, Twitter and/or Facebook. I mean, in the theoretical sense of course, I can understand why one might do this. But this woman wasn’t letting her kid roam free. In fact, the kid sort of fell on her face at one point (from a height of about 18”) and appeared to be 100% fine, but the mom made this huge deal out of it. Admittedly, for all I know, the kid has issues that I don’t presume to understand and it would actually be a huge deal if she fell on her face, so I am not judging. I’m just saying the mom was less ‘zoning out’ and more ‘swooping in.’
So, she wasn’t there to let her kid run free while she chillaxed, and she wasn’t there to make friends, but even a half nod could have conveyed so much. In her eyes I might have understood, “_I am so over this miniature house. I sit in here for, like, five hours a week. I’m tired, my house is a mess and I don’t have the energy for a full nod or even a hello, but I know you feel me, sister_.” I totally would have gotten that.
Instead, I was left to wonder how long we were going to act like the other didn’t exist (indefinitely, it turned out), and whether I was being way too sensitive (probably, yes), and if there is some unwritten code of Park Etiquette. If there is, can you fill this mother in? Thanks.
Pam Moore lives in Boulder, Colorado, with her husband, toddler, and five backyard chickens. She is an occupational therapist and co-producer of Boulder’s ‘Listen To Your Mother.’ Please visit her blog, Whatevs.
