I am not a police officer. And I know that.

I am not a child protective services worker. And I know that.

I am not a psychologist, a social worker, or a court-appointed child advocate. And I know that.

What I am is a good mother who recognizes when a child is being actively mistreated.

As I pulled into the parking lot at Rady Park last Friday, this is what I saw and heard: A white Honda SUV with its engine running and windows rolled up as a little blond girl who looked to be about four stood leaning against the side of the car sobbing.

I was two rows back and I could hear her. I could see an adult behind the wheel of the parked car.

I felt slightly uneasy, and I decided to keep an eye on the situation. I made my way over to the gazebo where my friends, the group of “elder statesmen,” congregate. As I reached them, one man asked, “Can you see who’s crying? It’s been going on a while.” I told them what I had noted.

The weather was sunny and hot and humid that day. As the crying persisted over another ten minutes, I decided I needed to take some type of action and made my way back to the parking lot.

Other women had made the same decision because two others reached the car before me. One told the driver to roll down her window. “Please let your child into the car. It’s very hot out here and she’s been crying for a while.”

In retrospect, I believe the driver was a caregiver and not the child’s mom. She and the child were of different races. But her answer in broken English was, “She can’t come in until she’s ready to go. She has to stop crying.”

The child continued to cry as the driver sat resolutely while the first woman tried to convince her to care for the child.

I’d had enough. I told her to let the child into the car or I’d call the police. No response except a dirty look. The first woman responded to me by saying, “Let’s give her five minutes to take the right action before getting the police involved.”

I said, “Nope! That child has already been crying outside in the heat for over 20 minutes now.” And I called 911 after getting a busy signal four times on the non-emergency number.

The driver’s response, while we waited for the police, was to finally let the child into the car telling her, “That lady called the police. Now the police are going to get you.”

Another mom helper beside me gasped and said, “I can’t believe she said that!” She had gotten involved because her own little girl insisted on leaving the playground to help the crying child. The mom told the driver, “I saw her almost get hit by another car!” The driver waved her hand dismissively and said, “No. I watched her in the mirror.”

That mom thanked me for calling the police and shared that her husband is a police officer. “The police won’t be able to do anything here because she didn’t commit an actual crime,” she advised.

I stayed until the police arrived. After they spoke to her and got back into their cars, I identified myself. One officer acknowledged they couldn’t take any action. The woman had told them the child had just been having a temper tantrum because she didn’t want to leave the playground.

It was not a tantrum. Who among us hasn’t had a child misbehave when they didn’t get their own way or they were tired or hungry? And I don’t judge when I see parents of special needs children dealing with meltdowns. But this was not the situation we witnessed. It was an adult acting inappropriately with a child.

I’m sharing this story because I can’t get it out of my head. I worry for the continued welfare of that little girl.

For just one second as I snapped a photo of the license tag before I called 911, I thought about all the recent news stories of the “Karens” – white women of privilege who threaten to call the police when they see something they disagree with.

But I couldn’t NOT call when it came to the safety and welfare of a child.