Took our kids to the playground. My wife and I were deep in conversation (code for fighting on a park bench) when this big, alpha male walked up to us. He looks like somebody switched his protein shake with a salad. He says, “Is that your kid over there?”

I apologize. “Sorry sir, we let them listen to whatever they want to in the car. Did he say something bad? We’re trying to break him from it.”

Muscle guy is fuming. There’s a vein on his forehead that looks like it’s about to pop. He says, “Your kid took a shit under the dinosaur slide.”

Parenting books talk a lot about feelings, discipline, and how to love unconditionally. But nobody prepares you for your seven-year-old taking a shit under the Barney slide.

My wife is glaring at me. Like somehow I had something to do with our kid’s crappy decision. Like I slipped him a fiver to drop a deuce under the slide. 

I’ve never been more embarrassed. Not knowing what to do, I try calling our kids over to make a clean getaway to the minivan. 

But my wife says, “You’ve gotta pick that up.” 

I’m mortified at this point. I go to the van and grab a dollar general bag. I make my way over to the slide. People have congregated around the crime scene; pointing at it; looking at me while shaking their unapproving heads.

”Your kid took a shit—“

”Yeah, I know, lady!”

I squat down and crawl under the slide. I see the pile of shit, all curled up, laying there. There were several kids under there with it. One kid is sitting in the corner, knees pulled into his chest, shaking and crying. Another kid is poking at it. And it’s not a little bit of shit. It’s a shit ton of shit. Almost like he had been planning this out for days. Like he’d been eating Raisin Bran and bean burritos all week, and being like, man when I get to that playground. I’m gonna leave the biggest shit. 

I pick up most of the poop in my bag, humiliated at this point. I turn around and do that thing dogs do after they shit, kicking wood chips behind me all over the scene of the crime.

Then I have to get out from under the slide. Just me, holding a bag full of shit, squatted down, waddling out.

Now everybody at the damn playground is surrounding me. Even people from the neighborhood have shown up. There are a couple of news stations with cameras. “Excuse me, sir? Did you know your kid took a shit—”

“No questions, no questions.” I yell at the cameras. 

I cut through the crowd, and see my son with a huge grin on his face. He says, “Dad, can we go to Taco Bell on the way home?”