She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say more, but I didn’t give her the chance.
I was beyond livid because I’ve always believed kids know when they’re full. So, seeing someone ignore that, pushing food on him until he cried, was the final straw.
I turned to the stunned daycare staff.
“Who is she? Where is her badge?”
Nobody answered.
I took Johnny and walked out.
That night, after the bath and bedtime stories, I sat on the edge of his bed.
“Honey,” I said gently, “why don’t you want to eat at daycare?”
He curled up under his covers and whispered, “The lady says I’m bad if I don’t finish. She tells the kids I’m wasting food.
Everyone laughs.”
His voice broke at the end.
I felt like I’d been punched! He wasn’t scared of the food. He was afraid of being humiliated!
That woman had turned his mealtimes into a punishment.
By Monday morning, I’d called into work and told them I needed to work from home, especially since my son was home with me. Then I called the daycare director, Brenda.
“We don’t force children to eat,” she said quickly, sounding surprised when I explained what I’d seen.
“She picked up his spoon and shoved it into his face,” I said. “He was crying.”
“That doesn’t sound like any of my staff,” Brenda replied, suddenly quiet.
I described the woman: gray bun, floral blouse, glasses on a chain.
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