Sitting on a park bench, sipping my iced coffee, I can’t help but feel a smug sense of relief: “Thank goodness that’s not my kid causing the ruckus.” But then reality hits me—it actually is.
A piercing cry slices through the air, louder than the usual din of children swinging or sliding. All the parents instinctively look up, like a herd of zebras at a watering hole. But I’m not too concerned—my ears are finely attuned to the sound of my kids, and I know what’s coming.
I glance over to see my son, Max, gripping a Thomas the Tank Engine that clearly belongs to another child, who is now in tears. “No! I’m not giving it back!” Max shouts defiantly. The other boy is sobbing, insisting, “But it’s mine!”
And in that moment, I want nothing more than to shake my son.
Even amidst the chaos, I realize this is one of those (ugh) “teachable moments.” The ideal parent would approach calmly, kneel to his level, and say things like, “Max, it looks like you’re feeling frustrated.” Or, “Max, that train doesn’t belong to you. Let’s give it back.” A more patient mother might even ask, “What can we do instead of fighting?”
But not me. No, I unleash a roar that starts from deep within, a primal yell that shakes the park’s calm. “Max! That train isn’t yours! Give it back. Now!”
Predictably, my outburst only incites a fresh wave of tears from him.
It’s been a long day. Honestly, it’s been a grueling 3½ years of parenting, and I’m horrified that my sweet boy—the one who loves my off-key renditions of “Tiny Dancer,” who shares his snacks with friends, who cuddles with his stuffed animals—is the reason for this other child’s tears.
By now, the other child’s mother has arrived, holding her weeping son in a tight embrace while glaring at my Max with what could only be described as daggers. I can’t blame her. I remember a time not too long ago when I felt the same rage toward another parent whose child had taken something from mine.
I’d rather channel my inner lioness and defend my child than be the parent whose kid is the source of another’s pain.
So, what do I do? I could engage in a wrestling match with my stubborn 3½-year-old, demanding he relinquish the train, only to become that mom who can’t control her kid—prompting onlookers to think, “Well, no wonder her child is acting out.” Alternatively, I could snatch the train from his grip and force an apology, but let’s be honest: he’d only be upset about losing the toy, not genuinely remorseful.
Instead, I might remind Max of that day last year when someone took his beloved Princess Tiana doll from him, causing his own heartbreak. “Do you remember how sad that made you?” I’d say. “Can you see how that boy feels right now?” I hope that by connecting these dots, he’ll understand empathy and learn not to be the little brat on the playground.
And there it is—the “teachable moment” shining through the exhaustion of a long day, not just for Max but for me as well. Because karma has a way of surfacing, and now that I’ve witnessed my son’s capacity for mischief, I hope this experience will make me more compassionate toward the next child who inadvertently hurts his feelings.
In the chaotic journey of parenthood, we learn and grow—both as parents and as kids.
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In summary, parenting is a mix of joy, chaos, and unexpected lessons. We learn to navigate our children’s emotions while reflecting on our own, seeking to foster empathy and understanding in an ever-evolving landscape.
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