Overheard

I have said many times, and likely even in this very place, that I am extremely thankful to have been a new parent before social media. The pressure to live up to another's carefully selected public persona would have been too much for my sensitive psyche. My lower-than-low self-esteem would have plummeted. And the first hint of public shaming online would have done me in.

Thankfully God has had me on a healing journey of redeeming that orphan spirit and revealing my true identity. And thankfully that journey was well on its way before I joined the social media arena.

But that's not to say that I have perfected the art of letting negative experiences roll off of my back. For me, it's good old-fashioned out-and-about-in-the-public overt condemnation, or even perceived judgement, that can send me reeling.

This past week we were on vacation. This is usually the place where I can relax the easiest, where God and I take walks together and have long talks, and where I find the most healing in this thing called life. Last year at this time, our beach vacation started in chaos as one of our own struggled with effects of past trauma and mental illness. This year promised to be different.  However, chaos still reigned but this time with another child.

Victor struggles with change and transition. Factor in less sleep, more-than-usual constant movement and sensory overload and it's a perfect storm. It's one things to ride out his rages in the privacy of our own home but another to do so for all to see on a public beach or crowded boardwalk. The beach is his favorite place but splashing in the ocean isn't always fun for the adult who gets too close. Jumping on the beach means that others might get sprayed by sand and when it's time to transition from fun to beach house for clean up, a loud tantrum is guaranteed. One particular grandmother with the privilege of sitting too near our group should have taken a picture; it would have lasted longer.

So by the last evening, I was well beyond my shame capacity. Try as I might to put it into perspective (ie. It doesn't matter what others think...They don't know what Victor's dealing with...They don't have any idea what our life is like...My identity doesn't lie in what some grandmother that I'll never see again thinks of me and my parenting...Blah, blah, blah...), I was failing miserably.

With a lot of pre-talk and role playing, we managed the transition from rides to this-is-the-last-ride to the-tickets-are-gone with just a small blip in emotional regulation. We decided to stop for ice cream before heading to the van. All was going well until Victor found that his chair was best used as a drum with hands for drum sticks. The people around us, whose ears have probably not been exposed to excessive drumming for the past five years, didn't need this extraneous noise so the Good Doctor asked him to stop. To the inexperienced, it probably sounded more like John had asked him to remove all of his fingers.

I was done. I scooped up what was left of my sundae and just walked toward the van as fast as I could. The Good Doctor remained with the raging six year old who was intent on telling the whole state of New Jersey exactly how he felt about the injustice of not drumming on chairs in public places.

As I speed walked, the tirade continued...

"I hate you!"

And then, another voice from right behind me, "If that was my child, I'd smack him upside the head."

"You're a dummy!"

"My kids knew they could never talk to me like that!"

"You're so stupid!"

"I know how to handle kids like that..."

There were many things I wanted to say to that woman, none of which were very nice so I kept walking. I considered saying nothing, and kept walking. I didn't want to turn my shame into shaming her. And if I were perfectly honest, a long time ago I would have been thinking the exact same things. (Oh, how much I "knew" as a new teacher with no children of her own!)

Finally, when I felt like my heart was in the right place, wanting simply to bring awareness rather than attack, belittle, or lash out, I slowed and turned around to face the couple. As quietly and as gently as I could, I said, "Except this child has special needs and none of those things would work. In fact, they would just make his rages worse." And then none of us knew what to say so I turned back on my way and they fell in a few steps behind again.

I share this story not for people to condemn the woman I overheard, or to feel guilty themselves for judging in the past,  or to think that I am in some way a better person for speaking up. The retelling of this experience is to first and foremost remind all of us, including myself, that every person is fighting some kind of battle; we should strive to always choose grace and compassion instead of judgement. Secondly, I share to suggest a better response. What if they had instead gone to John and asked if they could have helped? There was probably nothing they could have done but that simple act would have spoken volumes. Or, as a friend related to me, the woman could have turned, smiled, and said, "Good job, Dad." Maybe even, "I'm sorry." Sure, there are parents who make poor choices (Guilty!) but even if that is what you are witnessing, an encouraging word or offer of help could sure go a long way to changing the course of future parent-child interactions.

 Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, 

but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. 

Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. 

But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, 

I press on toward the goal to win the prize 

for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

Phil. 3:12-14