Last week, my kindergartner, Max, bounded off the bus and raced toward the house with excitement. I could sense he had something monumental to share, so I eagerly met him at the door. But instead of a cheerful greeting, he exclaimed, “I want SpaghettiOs!”
SpaghettiOs? Seriously? “You rushed home for that?” I chuckled.
Max, however, was dead serious. “Yes. I’ve been craving them since lunchtime. I thought about them the whole bus ride home. I really want SpaghettiOs, please!”
I felt bad breaking it to him, but dinner was already simmering on the stove. We were eating earlier than usual due to a Scout meeting, and I knew that if I indulged him with SpaghettiOs, he would definitely skip the wholesome meal I had prepared. I suggested a lighter snack, like a granola bar, but he was not having it. You’d think I told him he could never eat again. His face crumpled, and the waterworks began. He collapsed on the floor, backpack still on, wailing, “I hate it here!”
Oh, the theatrics.
As I watched him sob, I was struck by how something so trivial could cause him such distress (and yes, I rolled my eyes a bit). I realized that he was likely tired after a long day at school, and every parent knows that a fatigued child can melt down over the smallest things. But then it hit me: for kids like him, who have faced little adversity, even minor issues can feel monumental.
As adults, we often understand what truly deserves our concern, but that perspective comes with experience. Throughout life, we encounter significant challenges, and while we may have faced tough times, there’s always someone who has it worse. My friend Lily’s son battled a rare kidney condition that left me anxious, but it paled in comparison to what my sister endured when her daughter was diagnosed with cancer at just two years old. Yet, even in my own experience, those feelings were valid because they represented the hardest moments I had faced as a parent.
When we’re struggling, we need empathy, not a reminder that someone else has it worse. If a friend is dealing with a divorce, you wouldn’t say, “This is nothing compared to losing your house!” Instead, you offer compassion because, for them, this is the toughest situation they’ve faced.
The same goes for our kids. They haven’t encountered much hardship, so seemingly minor issues can feel like major crises to them. Reflecting on this makes me feel a pang of guilt for those times I dismissed their worries, thinking they were trivial. Who am I to judge the validity of their feelings? What if they stop coming to me when they face bigger issues because I’ve downplayed their smaller concerns?
I ultimately didn’t give in to Max’s SpaghettiOs request (dinner was already cooking). However, I also didn’t laugh at his meltdown. He has been fortunate enough to be shielded from serious issues, so in his world, this was a significant disappointment. It wouldn’t have helped to lecture him about children who never get SpaghettiOs or those who are truly starving. Instead, I wrapped him in a hug and acknowledged his feelings, even if they were about canned pasta.
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In summary, we must remember that our children’s worries, no matter how small they may seem to us, are significant in their eyes. When we validate their feelings, we ensure they feel safe coming to us when the stakes are higher, creating a supportive environment for their emotional growth.
Keyphrase: Children’s feelings matter
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