Schadenfreude

We were in the park yesterday, between bouts of rain and I noticed this little boy straight away. He was the one stomping on other kids' sandcastles and throwing rocks at the toddlers. Nice kid. His grandfather sat on a bench in the sun, reading the newspaper and paying no attention to his vile progeny's doings.

Then Mads whacked her head on a piece of equipment and the delightful lad rushed over, climbed up the tower she was standing on, and stood in front of her laughing. I can't tell you how close I came to pushing him over the edge.

As we left the park a little later I saw the boy near the basketball ring, bawling his eyes out. 'Look Mads, I said, 'that mean boy is crying. He looks like he hurt himself.' Mads looked at me sternly. 'Mummy,' she said. 'He's not a mean boy. What he did was mean.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Yeah, whatever,' I said. 'Now, run over there and laugh in his face.'