Anthony has two little boys named Aidan in his class, whom he’s affectionately dubbed “the good Aidan” and “the bad Aidan” based on their behavior – or at least his perception of it.
I didn’t know which was which until this afternoon when I picked up Ant from preschool. His teacher passed by me while talking to the father of one of the Aidans, praising how well the son had behaved at school today – in a way that suggested that’s not the way he normally acts.
“Ah,” I thought to myself, “that must be the bad Aidan.”
On the way back to our van, Ant waved at the same little boy and said, “Good-bye, Aidan.”
He then turned to look up at me – and I knew instinctively what he was going to say.
“Don’t say it, don’t say it,” I pleaded internally.
But, of course, he did.
“That’s the bad, Aidan,” Ant said, pointing right at his classmate’s chest. “He’s the bad one, Mama.”
Somewhat mortified, I swept my little one off his feet, shushed him, mumbled an apology to the other parent and got to the van as quickly as possible.
I then gave Ant a short lecture about how it’s not nice to call people bad.
Even when it’s apparently true.
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