When I started the Antelope Diaries, I never envisioned writing about a spat at a playground. I really never even considered it.

But it happened to me today. What it taught me is that when push comes to shove (and, thank God, it didn’t come to that) our animal instincts come out. Two of us behaved like animals today.

Read on.

Today was a beautiful sunny day. In our area that means a lot. When the sun comes out, we bolt for the outdoors. You’d be crazy not to. If we had more sun, this would be a very different place to live. People would be… happier. As it is, we’re a tech hub with the fourth or fifth worst traffic in the country, depending on who you listen to. So a lot of the time we’re stuck in rain and not able to move anywhere even if we wanted to.

A social worker once told me that a high percentage of people who work at a major software company here have Asperger syndrome. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but what I’ve seen in practice from 15 years living here is that people are more comfortable with computers than they are with people. It is very hard to make friends here, unless maybe you “friend” them on facebook. (How did “friend” ever become a verb?) If you go to coffee shops around here, you see more people sitting across from each other engaging with their laptops than they are with people sitting directly across from them. And those so called “smart” phones that people fondle… Ugh.

Anyway, people here are comfortable with a veneer of niceness, like the kind you see in an email. Scratch the surface though, and it may not be that pretty.

I was at a playground in a posh area of the city today. There are three types of swings there. The baby swing, which encloses a child 360 degrees, the traditional “adult” swing, with a rubber strip attached on two ends, and something in between: a plastic chair with straps that swings. (This chair looks like it was made for handicapped kids, but able-bodied kids swing on it as well.)

Polina was in the baby swing when she pointed to let me know she wanted to go to the swing with the plastic chair. There are only two of these in the entire playground. We stood nearby and waited for one to become available.

Now, at other playgrounds I have been to, it is customary, when another child is waiting, to swing for some reasonable amount of time (a couple minutes or so) and then let another child have a turn. The second child swings for a couple minutes, then let’s another child have a turn, and so on.

The two mothers at these two swings kept swinging and swinging with no mention of letting another child have a turn. It was like we weren’t there.

Okay… So we waited patiently. Finally one mother took her child off the swing and it became available. As Polina and I walked the five steps needed to get to this swing, another child got on. It was a child of the mother who was pushing a child on the first swing. She had two children.

At first I thought he got on by mistake.

“Could we use that swing?” I asked the mother politely.

“He wants to swing. He has been waiting too. Longer than you.”

“You have a child on the other swing.”

“Yes, I have two children.”

At other playgrounds I have been to, it is customary for siblings to share a swing (i.e. trade places) if there is a line so other children can have a turn. I’ve never seen a parent occupy the only two types of swings on a playground with both of her children when another child is waiting.

By that logic, if the Duggar family was at a playground, no kid would get on a swing.

I don’t know what got into me, but I told her she should share and she got angry at me. We both had strong personalities and the exchange didn’t look flattering in front of our children.

In short, we behaved like animals.

I was so angry I picked Polina up and carried her to another section of the park. She started howling.

I was so beside myself, I started telling my story to a person sitting next to me. I was so upset, I didn’t know if I was talking to a man or woman. The ego inside of me just had to connect with someone.

The woman, as it turns out, I was talking to said nothing.

“Don’t you have an opinion?  Do you have any children?” I asked when I was finished.

“Yes. It’s not my job to get involved with your affairs.”

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’m the crazy person talking to strangers that just want to be left alone.

I felt so isolated. I felt like crap.

After a few minutes, the swing we argued over became available. Polina and I walked over. I noticed two black people nearby who witnessed the whole incident staring at me.

“Are you looking at me?” I asked as I pushed Polina on the swing.

They both continued to look at me.

“Are you looking at me?” I asked as I walked over to them, emboldened by the adrenaline already running through my veins.

The woman continued to stare at me with wide eyes.

“Do you speak English?!” I asked standing in front of her.

“Are you talking to me?” she asked in perfect English.

“Yes. Stop looking at me.”

And I walked back to Polina on the swing.

She continued to look, said some things I couldn’t hear to her male friend, but I ignored them.

“It’s not worth it.” I said to myself.

I calmed down.

Why was I so upset?

At this point, I could ask, “If you have/had two kids, would you take up two swings if another child is waiting?” but frankly I don’t care. It wouldn’t matter to me, because I would never do it. If you have five kids, would you take up all five swings if someone was waiting? It just doesn’t make logical sense to me.

I’m not the one to preach here, obviously, given my own issues, but this woman taught her kids not to share and to take what you can get.

I taught my kid an absolutely horrible way to respond to conflict.

My meditation teacher taught me that some people operate on an animal level and through reincarnations become more civilized.

Today, this woman and I behaved like animals. We were after our own interests.

I told my husband what happened during dinner this evening. He approached the entire matter very calmly.

That’s what I need more of. Calmness. Indifference. Detachment.

I need it in this lifetime, because that’s the kind of place I live in: a veneer of niceness.

Many styles of writing portray the author in a favorable light. I took a chance here. Have you ever had a spat at the playground? How did you handle it?