With the layer of snow still covering the ground, and two little girls with pent-up energy from being cooped up for days, we ventured out to the mall playground yesterday. (OK, so it was also so I could do a little shopping, but that’s beside the point.)

Aaron watched the girls play for about 45 minutes, and then I took over for the last bit. Not long after I sat down, Cordy came up to me and sat on my lap. “Can we go home now?”

Surprised by this request, I said, “Yes, we can go home as soon as daddy comes back.”

At this point a little girl walked up to us and said to Cordy, “Come on! Your red car is back! Come play!” At first I wondered what red car? She doesn’t have a red car with her…

Then Cordy’s face brightened. “OK!” she exclaimed, taking the little girl’s hand as she led Cordy to the other side of the play area. It was such a sweet scene to witness – this little girl was asking Cordy to come play! My heart grew three sizes in that moment as I imagined Cordy someday having lots of friends and charming other kids.

I watched them go up to an older boy in a brown shirt (he looked about 7), and he then produced a shiny red toy car from behind his back. He took off running, holding the car up high. The group of 4 or 5 kids around him ran after him, including Cordy. The other kids looked around 5 or 6, so I wasn’t concerned that an older kid was with the group.

The thought crossed my mind that this older boy might be teasing the other kids a bit, but I quickly let that thought fall away when Mira climbed onto my lap for some attention. Cordy was having fun with friends, so I was happy.

A minute or so later, I checked to see where Cordy was in the play area. At first I didn’t see her, but I saw the group of kids she was with. They all seemed to be leaning in towards something up against a play structure, crowded together and laughing. I saw the older boy lower his hand, with the red car in it, towards the kid I couldn’t see, saying “Here, you want this?” and then yank it back quickly, shouting “NO!” at the kid and laughing. The other kids roared in laughter in response.

I started to get a sinking feeling, which was then confirmed when I heard Cordy’s high-pitched shriek. I shifted my position and across the play area saw Cordy, sitting on the floor and cornered by this group of kids, reaching up and pleading to play with the car as the boy again thrust it in her face, only to pull it away as she touched it, shouting “NO! It’s MINE, dummy!” in her face and laughing at her as she shrieked again, half-covering her face and looking confused. The other kids were egging him on, saying, “Do it again!” and shouting at Cordy, “It’s not your car!”

At that moment my heart shattered into a million pieces.

A moment later, sensing my heart was no longer in any state to put up a fight, my rage began rising from my gut on a conquering march to my brain.

I stormed over there, with what little logic I still had in my head repeating a mantra of Don’t kill the kids…don’t kill the kids… Not trusting myself to say anything to these little monsters, I simply walked past them and scooped Cordy into my arms, saying, “C’mon, let’s go play over there. You don’t need to play with kids who are mean to you.”

The older kid, realizing the jig was up, and thinking himself smooth and savvy with adults, tried to act like nothing was wrong. “She kept asking for her car, but it’s mine. She thought it was hers.”

Again, I didn’t know what to say in that moment. I didn’t want to tell the kids she has autism – they probably have no clue what that means, and I didn’t need to further alienate her from them. In a pinch, I came up with, “Well, she doesn’t always understand that a toy isn’t hers. She’s not as old as you might think she is.”

“Well how old is she?” the little girl who brought her back to the bullying asked me. “Is she six?”

Apparently my Amazon child had fooled people once again. “No, she’s four.”

The little girl seemed unimpressed. “Well, my little sister is four. And she knows that some toys aren’t hers.”

OK, engaging these kids has clearly failed. Time to just make an exit, I thought. But then the older boy – that same chubby little ringleader who thought he was so much older and wiser than other kids, yet was teasing my daughter mercilessly – had to add one more statement to prove that he understood child psychology.

“Oh, I understand!” he cooed at me. “Little kids and babies don’t get that there are toys that don’t belong to them. You know…like dogs! She’s just like a dog – doesn’t know what is hers and what isn’t.”

At that point my rage was screaming in my head One swing! Just let me have one swing at him!! Meanwhile, I had ceased to breathe or move as I stood there and stared at him wide-eyed, as if he had two heads, one of which was a barking dog. Even my logic had given in, pointing out, Someday that kid is going to get his chubby little head knocked into a wall, and he will completely deserve it.

Finally wrestling my voluntary muscles back to my own control, I turned away from the mean kids and carried Cordy back to the other side of the play area. She buried her head in my neck, asking to go home. Aaron wasn’t back yet, so I checked to make sure Mira was still OK and sat Cordy down next to me.

“I want my red car,” she whined.

“Cordy, that car wasn’t yours.” I reminded her.

“It wasn’t? I want to go play with my friends.”

Damn, she didn’t even realize they were teasing her. “Cordy, those kids weren’t your friends. They were being mean to you.”

Cordy looked confused. “They were?”

“Yes, sweetie. They were teasing you and laughing at you. They weren’t being nice.”

“Oh.”

We’re not even to kindergarten yet and I’m already stressed out about bullies. I want Cordy to have friends and be happy, but as it stands her social skills aren’t very strong and kids, who pick up on any weakness, are quick to exploit hers. The only comfort at the moment is that she has no awareness that people are being mean to her – she is spared the hurt and the pain of being rejected by others. (While I currently bear the brunt of it.)

I know I can’t protect her forever, but the social world of children is a harsh and cruel one, often shaping a person for a lifetime. I should know – I was a misfit child who endured being the outcast, and the scars still burn. It’s probably because of my past that I worry so much about my daughter who isn’t always on the same plane of reality as the rest of us. Winning popularity contests isn’t my goal for her, but I do want her to have friends and know how to handle situations where other kids try to hurt her.

At this point in parenting, I feel lost. We’re entering a phase of her life that I didn’t do particularly well with, and she has additional challenges to make it even more difficult. I can’t be there to pull her out of these situations all the time, and I can’t even think of how scenes like this would end without me stepping in.

(And before anyone asks: No, I don’t know where their parents were. A group of parents sitting right by the gang looked on without any concern. The mall play areas lean towards a Lord of the Flies atmosphere on weekends when older kids aren’t in school. The majority of concerned parents have very young children, and hover over them continuously.)