Not what you do with children, or unwanted bits of paper (or, two easy steps to ruining the morning)

At the red light we waited, Cheyenne and I. I was scratching her behind the ears when I noticed the man in the school parking lot beside us. Faded orange t-shirt, a blue number three on the back. Jeans, sandals. His young son was standing on the running board of his gray Suburban, two A&M stickers on the back windows. From inside, I heard a little girl yell, presumably at the young boy, Mooove! The man grabbed the young boy at his elbow and flung him off the truck. The child landed on his feet, immediately in tears and rubbing his elbow. The father looked at him and harshly told him to Grow the **ck up. I couldn't believe my ears. The little girl got out of the car and stood perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the ground. It was evident they were familiar with this behavior. The man leaned into the truck, grabbed the young boy's backpack and tossed it to him. The boy did not move. The backpack landed on the ground. Put it on! he barked. He retrieved the young girl's backpack and tossed it to her, harshly demanding, You too. She scrambled to put it on as fast as she could and, I imagine, get as far away from him as soon as possible.

When the light turned green, I yelled, Way to raise your children, nice guy, and moved forward slowly. He knew the words were for him, turned around in huh, what? recognition, but I was already past him by then. And flipping him off wouldn't have made a difference in the end.

In line at Starbucks, the woman in front of me rolled down her window and tossed out an empty packet of cigarettes. My window was down, the radio off, I heard it hit the dirt in the landscaping. Right there. WTF? I had a small meltdown in my car.

I don't put that man and that woman in the same category, I don't, but because of their behavior, after only being awake for about fifteen minutes this morning, I not only had tears in my eyes, but I was sick to my stomach. Six hours later, I'm still shaking my head.