Sharing a Mike Feeny Moment.

When I was in the fifth grade, I pushed Mike Feeny down a flight a stairs.

Our class was heading up from gym class when he grabbed the back of my bra strap and gave it a tug, snapping it across my back.

This was not the first time he snapped my strap, but it was the last.

He'd snapped it good -- a rubber band-meets-skin kind of pop that both stung and caught the attention of several classmates. Embarrassed, angry, and without hesitation; I shoved that boy and I shoved him hard.

Luckily, he fell backwards only a few steps before steadying himself with the railing and being caught by another kid. It could've been a bad fall. Thank God it wasn't.

I can still see that surprised look on his face when I'd turned on him. I'd been an easy target up until that point. Until I'd finally had enough. That was the last time Mike Feeny, or anyone else for that matter, snapped my strap.

I tell you this story because I think we parents need to remember what it was like growing up. We need to, as much as we can, remember what it like to endure playground politics, teachers who seemed out to get us, and parents who didn't understand.

And while it's not wrong to hold our kids to high standards, we can't expect more of them than we could possibly expect of ourselves back then.

My philosophy was put to the test this past weekend, when at a school event, Mad Dog had her own Mike Feeny Moment. This one didn't involve a bra strap plucking, but it did end with a shove.

A fellow fifth grader had been antagonizing Mad Dog. The girl's behavior had been more obnoxious than threatening. According to the adult on duty, the girl was just about to get reprimanded when Mad Dog, after telling her several times to back off, retaliated.

Without thinking, Mad Dog shoved the girl, knocking her down onto the ground. Luckily, like Mike, she was stunned, but not hurt. But in Mad Dog's case, the whole thing went down in front of a teacher who then came down on my daughter.

Clearly, Mad Dog should've handled the situation differently. She shouldn't have gotten physical. She should've asked an adult to intervene. But she didn't. And neither did I, nearly 30 years earlier.

And so I feel a bit conflicted.

Of course I need to encourage making good decisions, even if it makes me feel hypocritical. After all, this isn't about me; it's about Mad Dog. But I also feel the need to support my daughter and encourage her to stand up for herself. To protect her personal space. To not be a victim.

When we got home that night, I told Mad Dog that I was happy she stood up for herself, but that she has to find a different way to do it -- preferably a way that won't get her in trouble. We also talked about how before The Big Shove, the girl was just about to get it, but that an impulsive reaction landed Mad Dog in the hot seat instead.

Even though shoving the girl had clearly been wrong, I decided to not punish Mad Dog. It'd be different had she started the whole thing or had a history of pushing around her classmates. She'd simply had enough of somebody messing with her and had acted out of instinct.

So, while I wag my finger and outwardly discourage The Big Shove, deep down, I'm secretly proud. Proud of Mad Dog's spirit. Her moxie. Her willingness to stand up for herself.

And a part of me is proud that my little apple didn't fall too far.


Oh, and Mike, if you ever read this... sorry.