When actions speak louder than words

By Chris

"They're not like us," she said, not even bothering to lower her voice as she looked around the room.

I looked at her, dumbstruck. I wanted to ask, "Not like us how? In skin color? In intellect? In socio-economic status? In religious beliefs? In political ideology? And most importantly, what about me makes you think that we are an us?"

But I didn't say anything. I was there to play with my children. I wasn't interested in confrontation. I didn't want to challenge anyone. I didn't want to have to step outside of my comfort zone.  And so I said what I fear most people would say under the circumstances -- I said nothing.

We were at the children's museum. My two-year-old was playing with a Duplo exhibit where you build a tower and then push button, causing the base to shake and simulate an earthquake. Next to us was a woman with her granddaughter, who was playing with the identical exhibit.

We had been in the room playing for a few minutes when an inner city school group came in. I'll admit that I groaned to myself when I saw the kids come running in with their boundless energy. The room had been so peaceful and empty. They were older children, but it quickly became apparent that they were a "special needs" class.

One boy came running over to the Duplo exhibit. He stood watching for a few minutes and then in a moment of impulsiveness reached over the little girl and pushed the button. The little girl's finger was pinched slightly by the vibrating base. She began screaming and instead of comforting her grandchild, the woman began yelling at the boy. The boy apologized several times and yet the woman kept over-reacting. Finally the chaperones intervened and led the boy off to the other side of the room.

"They don't teach their kids like we do," she said.

That was the final straw for me. I realized that by not stepping outside of my own complacency I was becoming an "us." And that was so distasteful to me that I felt bile rising in the back of my throat at the very idea.

"I teach my children compassion. I teach my children to do the right thing, even though sometimes it is easier not to," I said.

I turned and walked over to the boy who was standing with two of his chaperones. I put my hand on his shoulder. I felt him tense up. It seemed as if he was steeling himself for some sort of criticism, which made my soul incredibly sad.

"I just wanted to come over and tell you I saw what happened and I know it was an accident. I wanted to tell you that I thought you were awesome to apologize. Just because other people can't accept apologies with graciousness, don't let it stop you. You did the right thing. And sometimes that is all you can do."

He looked me in the eye for the first time and smiled.

And I smiled back.

The chaperones thanked me. "No, thank you," I said to them.

Silently I thought, thank you for reminding me the importance of standing up. Thank you for reminding me of the dangers of complacency. Thank you for reminding me that in this vast impersonal world one person can make a difference to another person, both positively and negatively. Thank you for reminding me that we teach our children with our actions as much as with our words.

I can only hope that the boy remembers it.

I can only hope that I remember it.

Chris is a writer, artist, wife to one, and mother to seven children. In her free time she works at rescuing her historic New England house from a century of neglect.

Comments

[judi swindell]

Thank u 4 reminding me of things that I've let slip 2 the back of my "mind".

[kristy]

Thank you so much for sharing, it has inspired me to look for equally respectful ways to handle others' impudence.

[Amber]

I thought your comment to that child was so awesome. It seems so many children do not think of others or know how to apologize, so I am sure your kind words will go a long way and encourage him to do the right thing.

[Beth]

That was awesome. You showed such compassion and presence of mind in a delicate situation. I admire that!

[Jenniffer]

You are righteous in the very best way.

[Katie]

You always inspire me. Thanks for the reminder to speak up!

[sleepingmommy]

Thank you for setting a good example--both for your children and those adults that need to be shown what it's like to give compassion.

[elizabeth]

Along with you I have winced witin when a hoarde of kids have come into a science museum (or some such place) because of the sheer madness and crowding aspects. But I say bravo to you for speaking up, and reassuring the child. Because NO ONE is better than anyone else, and for us to teach children anything different is so sick and wrong.

[Sheri]

Very well said!

[elizabeth]

Along with you I have winced witin when a hoarde of kids have come into a science museum (or some such place) because of the sheer madness and crowding aspects. But I say bravo to you for speaking up, and reassuring the child. Because NO ONE is better than anyone else, and for us to teach children anything different is so sick and wrong.

[Sheri]

Very well said!

[Sheri]

Very well said!

[Sheri]

Very well said!

[Meredith]

You're right. Shaking ourselves out of our complacency -- out of our insular shells -- is exceedingly hard, particularly with a child or two on your arm.

[Meg]

Way to go, Chris...you know you rock.

[Anne]

Fantastic. Well done, that was very brave, Ihope that I would have the courage to do the same.

[Blair]

I work with "inner city" kids... those precious moments you took to say what you did to that child go a long way. Thank you, not only did you make his life a little nicer, but you made a small and lasting impact, and his teachers, I know, are deeply grateful.