Each week, Prudence asks readers for their thoughts on the letters she’s received. Her reply will be available every Friday only for Slate Plus members.

Hey Prudence,

Re Husband of a Soccer Hooligan: When my young boys all played in a recreational youth soccer league, we had to beg for volunteer coaches and referees. Soccer was very new to our little town and relatively new to the U. S. in general—this was 25 years ago. None of us were experts. My husband and I both coached and refereed.

I was once a ref for a game with kids under 10. I was doing my very best, and I made what I still believe was a good call. Well, one woman on the sidelines didn’t think so. She said, “That stupid bitch doesn’t know what she is doing.” I calmly walked over to her and took the whistle from around my neck. Then I pulled off the perfect revenge.

I told her I was doing my best as a volunteer. I explained we needed people with more knowledge about the game, and that we were having a terribly hard time getting parents involved. I told her I was thrilled to have found someone who could do a better job, and I tried to hand her my whistle! She looked terribly embarrassed and declined. Neither I nor the other refs heard anything from her after that.

Come to think of it, that team’s sideline got a lot quieter and more supportive for the rest of the season. Sometimes, people need to be called out in the moment. Luckily, that was a fairly safe place and time to do it!

—Treva, Volunteer Soccer Ref

Good for you! In high school, I played volleyball—for one season. By the end, I still couldn’t serve over the net, so I decided it might not be for me. I still remember having to “do lines” at tournaments, which basically meant being the ref and deciding whether balls were in or out. (This is something I haven’t thought about for many, many years, so I hope I’m not making it up.) It was very high pressure! I would have panicked if someone confronted me about a call. You didn’t deserve to be yelled at, and I completely agree that someone should step up to embarrass the mom here.

Hey Prudence,

Re Husband of a Soccer Hooligan: I was a ref for my son’s league when he was little. I made mistakes, but it didn’t matter—I got yelled at whether I was right or wrong. People were ridiculous. The part that drove me nuts: this was a volunteer-run league! Theoretically, every parent was supposed to help out in some way. Most of them did not. You’re giving me shit for stuff I’m doing for free so your kid can play, and you’re just sitting there complaining about me anyway? When a parent got out of line, I would ask, “What do you do for the league?” They’d make up some bullshit, and I would encourage them to become a ref, too. I doubt any of them did, but it helped shut them up. Maybe Emilia’s mom is more committed? The husband should tell her to put up or shut up.

The other thing is, I mean, they’re 6 years old. There are no scouts at these games. It really doesn’t matter what happens, as long as they all have fun. Of course, that didn’t work rhetorically; no parent believes that what their kid is doing is mostly inconsequential. So, I gave up on that one.

—Matt

Another great response. I mean, I do kind of get why parents care. If your kid works hard and does whatever it is they’re supposed to do in a game, you want them to get credit for it. But obviously, yelling about it and being abusive to the volunteers serving as refs is not the way to make that happen. It’s making me think the kids themselves need an orientation at the beginning of the season to help them prepare for the wild conduct they’ll see from the adults.

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Hey Prudence,

About your answer to Overseas Candy: How about bringing the kids postcards, local coins, or currency? I would personally love stuff like that.

—Hal

Cute, cheap, and easy. I like this, and I bet the kids would get really into it.

Hey Prudence,

Re Overseas Candy: I would say that sending postcards from the places she travels to might be a good fix. Kids never get snail mail these days, so investing in some Forever Stamps (or grabbing them from the airport kiosk internationally) and popping a quick hello in the mail to these kids might become a cherished new tradition. These poor kids are already having to eat “rabbit food.” Don’t punish them more! Be the cool aunt by introducing something new that is just as sweet.

—Peggy

This might be a tiny bit more work than the letter writer—who I assume is currently just grabbing a bag of candy along with her snacks for the flight home—wants to do. But not so much more work that it’s unreasonable. Definitely a good option. And it made me realize it’s been about 20 years since I received a postcard!

Hey Prudence,

Re An Inconvenient Poop: This is so egregiously disgusting that I’d understand if you decided to talk to your mother-in-law about it. You’re not a guest, you do live there.

And while the presence of poop smears literally on the toilet (in it is bad enough!) makes me want to hurl until I have no organs left, I get what the LW is saying about not wanting to rock the boat, especially in this way.

But if I felt that desire was ultimately stronger than my standing and willingness to “have a direct conversation” with my brother-in-law about his own poop and what he does with it—and it probably would be—I would just invest in one of those three-packs of Clorox or Lysol wipes and keep it in that bathroom.

Goddamn. Again, very few things that cost no money are actually free.

—Esmeralda FitzMonster

Good practical advice. I still lean against confrontation in this case, just because I can’t imagine that a) no one has noticed or b) that once it’s brought to their attention, the problem will be solved. So, although what’s happening is indeed very gross, it doesn’t seem worth it. Break into the pandemic stash of Lysol wipes!

Hey Prudence,

Re No Isn’t Enough: I feel really bad for Grace. I was Grace, except I did drive and was allowed to hang out at friends’ houses. But my parents were nearly as smothering as Grace’s, and when I went to college at 17, I had all the emotional maturity of a 12-year-old, and was nearly as scared of everything as Grace. I had plenty of anxiety, but it was created by my parents and their anxiety.

Every Office Job Has One Unspoken, Important Rule. I Just Can’t Bring Myself to Do It!


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Living in a dorm was quite an adjustment, and I had a really rocky start—my first roommate and I hated each other’s guts. But it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. Just being away from my parents and being able to think for myself without their pushback was such a breath of fresh air! Living with a relative would still have been an improvement in my case, but it wouldn’t have been as good for me as living among my peers in a dorm, where I ended up with a wonderful friend group, a boyfriend, and a part-time job to have some money I didn’t have to justify to my parents.

The LW should tell Grace’s parents they’re not willing to let her live with them. Having let a grad student live with you once does not obligate you to do it for any relative who goes to that school. And living in a dorm is an experience that Grace really, really needs.

—CarpeFelis

I didn’t think about how healthy the dorm experience—and the independence that comes with it—would be. You’re absolutely right. Plus, colleges have RAs and I’m pretty sure part of their job is helping out people who need a little assistance with living on their own.

Classic Prudie

I am a 27-year-old woman who has been in a wonderful relationship for the past year. The problem? My parents despise my boyfriend. He is (among their objections) of mixed race and from a lower-middle-class family. Any attempts to raise a discussion with my parents end in arguments. They want me to break up with him and find someone more suitable with a similar family background to mine. I am Chinese, and so I am expected to obey my parents. My boyfriend doesn’t know about this. Is there a way forward with my parents, and should I tell my boyfriend?

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