Less than a month after My Sweet Baby Boy started preschool, I received bad news from the assistant manager. She texted me to tell me that My Sweet Baby Boy had been bitten by a friend on the playground. My first question was whether or not My Sweet Baby Boy was OK. My second question was … you guessed it – who bit him and why?

Turns out, the preschool is prohibited by policy to tell me which child bit him. All it could tell me was that the parents would be notified and the child would be disciplined.

For weeks, I looked at all of the other 2-year-olds in My Sweet Baby Boy’s class as potential perpetrators. Or “perps” as they say on “Law & Order.”

It would have been much better for my overactive imagination, or paranoia as others might describe it, to know the identity of the offender. Shamefully, or rightfully (depends on whom you ask), I quizzed My Sweet Baby Boy for a name a couple of days later. I know, I know. In my defense, it was not a full-blown interrogation but rather indirect questioning about the offense. Turns out My Sweet Baby Boy is no squealer. He would not rat on his friends, no matter how I rephrased the question. My cross examination skills were no match for his loyalty.

When I picked him up the afternoon of the bite, I saw a chunk of skin was missing that had just been there a few hours before. I also discovered the location of the bite. When you hear of a child being bitten, you would think the bite would be on an arm or a knee. At least that is what I had assumed. But you would be wrong in this circumstance. Very wrong.

I walked in and My Sweet Baby Boy started crying. He re-enacted the bite by biting the air with his mouth. I could tell he was upset that someone had bitten him. The workers then pulled up his shirt and took off the Band-Aid.

The perp had bitten him in the middle of his chest, right over his heart. Over his heart! I think that speaks of sociopathic tendencies. Or bad aim.

Either way, I could not believe this had happened to My Sweet Baby Boy. The rational me knows this was just a playground incident and there will be many more to come. But, there was an innocence taken from My Sweet Baby Boy on the playground that day. We do not practice corporal punishment in our home. The fact that someone had reacted with physical anger toward him hurt him deeply. I could see the betrayal in his eyes when I picked him up. That is what worried me most of all, not the scar he still wears.

The weekend after the bite, My Sweet Baby Boy bit me again and again. Something he had never done before. Our mantra became: “We don’t bite our friends, no bite our friends.” I was terrified he would return to preschool seeking vengeance and bite someone else. Instead, he returned Monday and took up with all of his friends, like nothing had happened.

Not only did this biting incident prove that My Sweet Baby Boy is no squealer, it also taught me he has no interest in settling scores. And, each day begins with a chance to start anew. His policy is to shake off the trauma of yesterday and go play with some blocks. His mantra for me would be: “No carry grudges. Forgive others. And, lighten up, will ya?”

Will I ever be able to teach him as much as he teaches me?

— Jennifer Brinkley is a foster parent and step-parent in Bowling Green.