I remember sitting cross-legged on the carpet in my grandma’s cozy independent living apartment, engrossed in a card game with my mom and one of my daughters. It was the ninth day of our trip to the Midwest, where we had gathered with family—parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and my beloved grandmother. The atmosphere was lively, but not without its challenges; my other daughter had already erupted into tears over a toppled domino tower (a real plot twist), sulking on the couch.
Seeing Grandma just once a year makes our time together incredibly special. I definitely didn’t want our visit to be marred by the typical meltdowns that often accompany traveling with school-aged kids. However, it became clear that things were heading in that direction.
The child I was playing cards with was becoming increasingly frustrated. My knack for winning—often by sheer luck—wasn’t helping. I wasn’t trying to be overly competitive, but I also wasn’t about to let her win simply because she was older than four. After winning three games consecutively, I could sense her irritation escalating to a breaking point. Soon, she was directing her frustration at me in a rather rude manner. Recognizing the need for a timeout, I suggested we take a breather on the patio outside.
I felt embarrassed by her behavior. She was on the verge of an unnecessary tantrum for her age, being openly disrespectful, and it was clear I hadn’t successfully taught her about good sportsmanship. I wanted to avoid any further awkwardness in front of my parents and grandma.
Once the door closed behind us, she burst into tears. “I know exactly what you’re going to say!” she cried, detailing all the things I was indeed about to say—how she was being disrespectful and a poor sport. I allowed her a moment to vent while I gathered my thoughts.
In a calm voice, I confirmed her feelings, acknowledging that yes, she was embarrassing us both. I explained that losing can be tough, but treating me that way was unacceptable. Just then, Grandma appeared outside, sitting beside my daughter, who was nearly hyperventilating with emotion.
“The tough part about games is that they don’t always go our way,” Grandma said gently. “You’ve been running around a lot these past days, haven’t you?” she added, recognizing the exhaustion we all felt from traveling.
Then she said something that struck just the right chord. “We all love you.”
My daughter’s tears flowed harder.
“Do you want to hear that from your mom too? Would that help?” Grandma asked.
Normally, I might have felt annoyed by someone else offering advice on my parenting in a tense moment. Yet, at that instant, it was the kind nudge I needed.
“I do love you, sweetie,” I said, pulling her onto my lap. “No matter what you say or do, my love for you remains unchanged.”
After a few more minutes of tears, we were able to regroup and enjoy the rest of our evening, even finishing our card game before heading out to dinner. My daughter felt a bit sheepish about Grandma witnessing her breakdown, but I reminded her that Grandma had said precisely what she needed to hear: that she was loved, no matter what.
I don’t believe in tolerating inappropriate behavior from our kids. Rude language should not be ignored. However, I’ve realized that compassion sometimes takes precedence over the need to be right. At 95, my grandma seems to grasp this truth more clearly than many of us.
Children are individuals—imperfect, just like us. They experience disappointment, frustration, and sometimes humiliation. They deserve our compassion. The next day, while dealing with my own meltdown at the airport, I was grateful for the kindness of a fellow traveler without kids. I can only imagine how much worse it would have felt had she decided to chastise me instead of offering understanding and empathy.
While it’s crucial to hold our children accountable for their actions, they also deserve compassion when they show us their struggles. That day, I’m thankful my wise grandma stepped in and reminded me that compassion is sometimes the most powerful lesson of all.