And They Still Bring It Up

Most of you know, because of my hardened self-esteem and ability to take a beating, that I grew up with 3 older brothers. I could tell a lot of stories about those years. Being pinned down and forced to eat sour candies that I hated. The time they let me eat that silica powder pack with my frozen pretzel that specifically says "do not eat". (I couldn't read, and it looked like a powdery topping. When my mom figured it out she lost it and called poison control and I thought I was dying.) All of my dolls being bald because Cody would rip out their hair to torment me.
When you hear this next story, please bear in mind the years of psychological torment that led to this moment. 
I was five. We had just pulled into camp in Oregon where we were staying for a family reunion. It had been a long road trip, and it was starting to get late. As my dad started to park the trailer, I complained that I had to go to the bathroom. Since the trailer wasn't set up yet, my mom told my brothers to walk me over to the public bathrooms across the campsite. 
When we got there, there was a sign on the door for Women, only it looked like this. 

Now, to me, it is still pretty obvious that this woman, while also bald, handless, and all around unfortunately-shaped, also only had one leg.
As my brothers tried to convince me to go inside, I told them nice try, but I was smart enough to know that this was a handicapped bathroom.
They got a good laugh out of it at first. Ha ha, our little sister is so dumb, now go to the bathroom.
But after a few minutes, it wasn't so funny. I mean, I was only five, and I really had to go. This was no time for their mean pranks. But I also couldn't understand why the handicapped women's restroom was right next to the men's room, with no regular restroom in sight.
Luckily, after what felt like an eternity of my brothers trying to convince me that the bathroom wasn't handicapped, my mom came over to figure out what was going on. She, of course, laughed too and then had to escort me into the bathroom, where I was still sure a cop would burst in at any moment and arrest us. 
And now, the point:
Lately, I see a lot of people posting pictures and stories about their kids that may seem cute or funny to us, but are generally really embarrassing for the kid. Granted, I post a lot of pictures of my kid. Like, a lot. But I try to keep in mind what he might not appreciate being posted all over the World Wide Web twenty years from now.  
Not only that, but it's mortifying for them now. Kids aren't just emotionless little robots. They understand and remember a lot younger and a lot more than we give them credit for. Just because they are little doesn't mean they don't deserve basic human respect, especially from their parents. 
All I can do is be grateful there was no one around to film me that day while I stood there doing the pee-pee dance and crying about my lack of bathroom accommodations. Id prefer to blog about them myself twenty years later, thanks!

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