After going out to the Coppertop for breakfast to celebrate our wedding anniversary, we stopped at a playground we noticed on Segoe Road.

A boy of about three ran over to meet us, smiling. He approached Ulysses, who was smiling at him, too. As they neared each other, they slowed down and then stopped, their faces about a foot apart. "Hi, baby! Hi!" said the boy. Both faces were lit with curiosity and eagerness. I marvelled at how naturally adept they each seemed to be at appropriate social interaction, the way the boy had stopped at a distance that was comfortable for the baby, the way they both were watching each other's faces and body language, the way they were cueing each other about friendly intent and willingness to play together. I wanted to see what they would do next.

Then the boy's mother, who was pushing a stroller with a girl of about 10 months, ran over and exclaimed, "Michael! Be gentle with that baby!" She stood close to him. Ulysses and Michael tried to keep up their interaction, but the mother continued her warnings -- "Be careful! Don't hurt the baby!" --  until Michael backed away from his new playmate, now with an uneasy, uncertain look on his face.

It seemed there wasn't a move Michael could make without eliciting a correction or a caution from his mother. "Michael! Watch yourself by the swing! Don't fall off that ladder! Be careful on the slide! Go around the other way."

(Later, when I was going over the events at the playground, Don pointed out to me that Michael had in fact almost run into Ulysses at the swings. "I would too, with that woman making me nervous," was my retort.)

We made conversation with the mother. The little girl struggled a little in her stroller, as if she wanted to join the activity of the other children. "Is she going to play?" I asked the mother. "No," she replied with a sigh, "I guess she really should, but then her clothes would get dirty." I looked at the girl. The clothes appeared to be ordinary play clothes, not special finery as far as I could tell. Besides, why bring a child to a playground dressed in clothes that shouldn't be played in?

Meantime, Michael was walking towards a kiddie-scaled play counter built into the playground equipment, designed for playing shopkeeper and other games of imagination. The playground floor was a bed of gravel, and some of the pebbles were lying on the counter.

"Michael!" said the mother, her voice sharp with alarm. "Watch out for those rocks!"

*  *  *

After a while, the woman said to Michael, "Are you ready to go?"

"No!" he replied.

"Well, we have to leave. I'm going to carry you out of here crying. Is that what you want?"

"No!" he said.

"Are you ready to go?"

"No!"

She pushed the stroller to the edge of the park, near the sidewalk, about 50 feet from the jungle gym.

"I'm going now! Michael!"

Michael ignored her. She called his name a few more times, then walked over to the gym and plucked him into her arms. Just as she had instructed, Michael was wailing as she carried him away under her arm.