Let me clarify right from the start: I’m not an overly strict parent. My kids enjoy their share of screen time, and every now and then, I let them indulge in snacks that probably glow in the dark. I have no competitive streak, nor do I care how others choose to raise their children. What I do insist upon is good manners, and I ensure that my kids leave the house clean, nourished, and (for the most part) content. That’s about the best I can aim for on most days.
Before becoming a parent and even during the early years of my journey, I wouldn’t dream of confronting anyone. Now, however, I’ve realized I can sometimes enjoy a little confrontation with strangers.
When I had just my son, I found myself constantly apologizing for him. If he cried in public, I would spin around, trying to make eye contact with fellow passengers to express my regret for the disturbance. If I had focused on comforting him instead of worrying about what others thought, he probably would have cried far less. I would explain his tears to people I had never met and would likely never see again, assuring them he was, in fact, a lovely baby. Looking back, I cringe at my frantic need for validation; after all, babies cry.
Then came my first daughter, and things got trickier. Managing two small children in public can be quite a task, often leading to embarrassing moments. They both developed a knack for asking awkward questions and competing in a dramatic display of “We are leaving somewhere fun, so let’s throw ourselves on the floor and scream.” This dramatically diminished my concern for the opinions of others.
“Oh dear! Are they tired?”
“No, just being naughty.”
“I see. Have you tried insert some irrelevant advice?”
Before my second child arrived, I would have responded politely to such comments, but now I simply say, “No.”
With the arrival of my third child—a second daughter—I encountered a new level of unsolicited advice and public scrutiny, including blatant disdain for my child. She screams, kicks, and has been known to throw some impressive tantrums. (Once, a pediatrician even suggested she might be having unusual seizures during one of her meltdowns, but fortunately, that wasn’t the case; the doctor did, however, commend her impressive stamina.) My toddler has tested my patience more than both of her siblings combined.
The attention strangers pay to how I handle my feisty toddler is beyond anything I have experienced before. Keep in mind, this behavior is typically reserved for a certain type of rude individual (of which I must admit I have been guilty in the past). I’m not discussing the supportive folks, the “I’ve been there” crowd; they’re the best. I’m talking about the eye-rollers and the “Oh dear!” types.
On a recent six-hour train journey with my three children, aged 6, 3, and 2 (let that sink in for a moment), my youngest had a single tantrum. The train was packed, and we were crammed into two seats while she longed to walk the aisle and chat with passengers. There simply wasn’t enough space.
Suddenly, she erupted into a loud, furious scream, escalating her distress as I tried to soothe her and stroke her hair without confronting her directly (which only makes things worse). Even my older kids appeared embarrassed.
Then, out of nowhere, a woman around 50 years old pushed her way through the crowded carriage, urgency etched on her face. She bent down, getting close to my daughter, and without addressing me, she shushed her sharply, finger pointed. Only after that did she look at me, her expression one of disapproval, and shouted, “That’s enough!”
Before I could react, my older daughter, who often lacks a sense of decorum, boldly interjected: “Don’t shout at my sister!” She then gestured toward me and added, “That’s her job.”
She was absolutely right. Until my children reach school age or mature enough to behave in public (which, let’s be honest, might take until they’re 20), no one other than my husband and I should discipline them. Even my 3-year-old understands this. While I may appear to be struggling to manage the situation, I might actually not care at all about the disturbance (and sometimes, I really don’t).
The woman departed as quickly as she had arrived, leaving me little opportunity to express my thoughts on her rude, finger-pointing interference. With a still-sobbing child and two bewildered siblings, I faced the dilemma of either losing my cool on a crowded train or letting it slide into the “Couldn’t care less” category.
Just as I contemplated the latter, a woman across the aisle tapped my shoulder and said, “I’m sorry to intrude or offer help,” as my youngest attempted to fish-hook my eye, “but I was wondering—would you like my seat? I’m getting off in 20 minutes, and it looks like you could use it more than I can.”
In that moment, I could have cried tears of gratitude. I was relieved I hadn’t shouted back at The Shusher, and I realized that my calm demeanor had turned an embarrassing incident into a moment of quiet dignity.
So, the next time you feel compelled to apologize for your child’s outburst or feel the urge to react when someone rudely intervenes, take a deep breath. Remember: the kind ones truly outnumber the rude ones by at least ten to one.
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Summary:
Parenting can be challenging, particularly in public settings where unsolicited advice often comes from strangers. One mother recounts her experiences of dealing with her children’s tantrums, highlighting the importance of maintaining composure and understanding that judgmental comments are often made by a small minority. The story emphasizes the need for parents to support each other and the reality that the majority of people are empathetic and kind.