Grocery Shopping and Observation
Sometime in the past month I followed a link labeled “A good reminder” to read a story about a father and son in the grocery store. This father repeatedly scowled and reprimanded his son for small things and the observer, who later blogged, talked about how sad it was that the father was killing his son’s confidence and native curiosity. Many comments to the blog post agreed how sad it was. Some even went on to share further stories about parents who displayed similar callousness toward their children in public places. I read it all and I could see the horrible uncaring parent the blogger saw. I could see the need of a reminder to all parents to remember what treasures children are and how we should value them. That reminder is always good. Then I tip my head to the side and I see things differently. I wonder what happened between that father and son before they came to the store. I wonder what the father’s day has been like, what his life has been like. I wonder why he is at the store with his child instead of coming alone.
Today I was the callous parent at the store. Gleek danced in the aisles, her glance landing with delight on multitudinous shiny things. I pushed the cart and repeated an unending litany of “No. Slow down. Watch out. Stop it. Come back here. Stay with me.” Some days I love the way she fizzles with energy and ideas. Other days it is all I can do not to scream with frustration. We arrived at the store with my frustration level high. She wandered off this afternoon. Again. I had to locate her. Again. She was with friends, perfectly safe, not even technically out of bounds. Except that she was not where I’d given her permission to go. So then she had to stay in the house and the backyard, which made her grouchy. She shared her grouchiness and would not settle down for homework. Then I found her out front, or rather at the side of the house, which she insisted she didn’t realize counted as the front yard. Then I had to restrict her to the house.
Hoping to inject something positive into the evening, I offered to take her to the store if she did her homework without complaints. She did the work, but complained, stomped, and was angry. I had to weigh the unpleasantness of leaving without her against the guilt of bending my word to take her anyway. A strict approach might teach a lesson about work or it might send her off into a fit of self loathing wherein she declares she can do nothing right. A lenient approach might provide a positive relationship building experience, or it might reinforce the fact that she can get away with bending the requirements. The answers would be clearer if I knew she was intentionally pushing limits, defying me. But she isn’t. She isn’t conniving or malicious. If she were, she would go much farther afield. As it is she remains tethered by a desire to be good.
So I was conflicted when we arrived at the store, and her skipping, dancing, ninja-sneaking traverse through the store wore my nerves thin. To an observer I may very well have looked like a heartless parent. Some of my consequences and decisions may have seemed out of proportion with the offenses. There are times when I know that the right parenting path will appear wrong to those who don’t know the full story. Because a grocery trip does not happen in isolation. It is a piece of a day, part of a larger pattern. Sadly, today’s pattern was frazzled and unfocused.
As she darted through the parking lot in the dark, wearing black clothes, despite my admonition to stay close, I thought, again, that it might be time for me to write the sequel to Hold on to Your Horses. I don’t know that another story will help, but the last one did. It is worth a try.