I’d rather make a scene than raise a spoiled brat.
I’d rather my daughter be screaming and crying, fists pounding on the floor, people staring with disbelief in their eyes-- than for her to get her way by acting like that.
I mean a performance like that deserves a crowd--maybe an Oscar nominee--so I don’t blame anyone for looking at the train wreck in front of them in utter disbelief.
I mean, when my daughter is a brat, she can be a real crowd-pleaser too, with her performance of a lifetime. She demands the stares. The eye-rolls. The thank-goodness-that-isn’t-my-child whispers and glances.
Yes, it used to embarrass me. My cheeks would turn beat red, and I'd be frozen in my spot, head-spinning—how Is this my daughter? I’m the worst mom. I’d try to get her off the floor with any bribe. Then---
Now, I could care less what it looks like.
Because my priorities shifted way beyond caring what you think, about my child, or me as a mother, in a snapshot of time.
I have loftier goals.
I want to raise good humans.
I want to raise kids that know right from wrong.
I want to raise kids that include everyone.
I want to raise kids that know the power of their words and how damaging they can be.
I don’t want to raise spoiled brats.
I see the morals of some people, and it terrifies me. We're a society too afraid of what people think, and I don’t think that’s helpful when the goal is to raise good humans no matter what.
I’ll always love my kids, but I won’t accept bad, especially malicious and disrespectful behavior.
So I’ll swallow my pride when going out, and do what I have to do.
Because I’d rather make a scene than raise a spoiled brat.