A Tong exploded with anger the moment he realized mom was tasting his pacifier. His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed with pure outrage. That pacifier was his comfort, his world, his right. Seeing it anywhere near mom’s mouth felt like a serious betrayal. He screamed sharply, voice cracking with offense, tiny body stiffening as if struck by injustice.
He lunged forward, arms flailing, fingers grabbing at the air. His legs kicked hard against mom’s lap, protest pouring out in loud, dramatic cries. His face turned red, lips trembling, four little teeth flashing as he shouted his anger without holding back. This was not playful jealousy. This was serious business.
Mom tried to laugh it off, gently explaining while pulling the pacifier away. That only made things worse. A Tong cried louder, shaking his head violently, eyes locked on the pacifier like it had been stolen forever. He rolled his body sideways, nearly slipping, still screaming, still demanding justice.
Dad watched closely, knowing this storm well. A Tong’s pacifier wasn’t just rubber. It was safety. It was calm. It was something that belonged only to him. When mom finally wiped it clean and offered it back, A Tong slapped her hand once in pure frustration, then froze.
The moment the pacifier touched his lips, everything changed. His cries stopped instantly. His shoulders dropped. His breathing slowed. He sucked hard, glaring at mom for one last second as if warning her never to cross that line again. The rage melted into relief.
Mom held him close, whispering softly. A Tong leaned into her, still frowning, still offended, but calm at last. His hand clutched the pacifier tightly, claiming victory.
Today’s drama wasn’t about anger alone. It was about ownership, trust, and comfort. A Tong didn’t know how to explain it, so he screamed it instead. In his small world, some things are sacred.
And that pacifier was one of them.
