NYOB

Emergency room.One o'clock in the morning.That kid's father is wasted.The boy looks to be about 11-years-old.His father has him in a "playful" head lock, grinding his knuckles into the boy's scalp.Then he starts kissing his head, his cheeks. He's all over the boy.The child looks many things: embarrassed, uncomfortable, afraid.I glance around.My own child sits beside me, clutching her aching tummy.I point out the situation to my husband.He observes. Shakes his head. Says nothing."I can't stand it any more," I whisper.At the reception desk, I ask the clerk to get this guy into a room.Pronto.Put him in a room to separate them.Put him in a room so that the doctors can observe that he's unfit to be with this child. Put him in a room and give the kid a break.She agrees.My husband thinks I should mind my own business, especially when it becomes clear that the child's mother is also in the waiting room. Watching the whole thing. Doing nothing to stop it.But I will always step in to protect those who cannot help themselves.That is my business, and I do mind.