One summer at sleep-away camp, an incident occurred which galvanized everyone under 16 against one 14-year-old kid. It wasn't anything that he'd said or done. He didn't drop the last out in the big game, he didn't give everyone lice. The big crime, in fact, was committed by his mother. She wrote him a letter and began it with the salutation: "Dear Pookiedoodle."
This boy had not been especially liked in the first place, which is how his private letter had become public in the second place. Some mean kids in his bunk had stolen his letter and read it during rest hour one day. They taunted him about it, and pretty soon the word was out. The boy did not return to camp the following year; I'm amazed he made it past visiting day.
I hadn't assumed my alter ego yet, so the only thing I could do was snicker to myself whenever he passed by. I'd like to think that I didn't shout a few "Pookiedoodle"s of my own, but in all likelihood I did.
This did teach me some important lessons, however: Never behave towards your children in a way that could scar them for life, and always assume that some bully is reading over your shoulder.