It's been a cold, dark winter. Though I've made it through the past two years with nary a cough or sniffle, this winter proved different. For the first time in nearly a decade, I've been ill with everything from the norovirus to the common cold to the all-out flu. Our family's most recent bout with a terrible cold again brought me to our nearby drugstore, where I have spent a small fortune in the past two months. And though I filled up my hand basket with the usual remedies, this visit to Drugs R Us was different. This time, I encountered Satan.
Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. Lucifer himself did not pop up in front of me with his standard pitchfork and cape of crimson. Instead, he appeared in a much more sinister fashion: as an older woman determined to give me parenting advice. Actually, make that an older woman hellbent on telling me I'm doing a poor job as a parent.
It is here that a bit of backstory is due. My kids likes cars. He likes trucks. And when they're placed on every aisle of a store, he's going to stop and play with them. I'm happy to indulge a bit. But today, with nap time nigh, I was trying to get the heck out of Drugs R Us in time to shuffle said child to the land of nod. And so, I made my kid leave the trucks and head to the cash register. As anyone with a two year old knows, this sort of maneuver usually results in a tantrum. Today, it certainly resulted in a tantrum. It was short-lived, it was loud, it was a tad embarrassing. It also was over in about 30 seconds. But like many tantrums, this one had a second, ugly head to rear. And as I paid for my cold meds, my precious angel decided to grab my ankles and whine to be picked up. This resulted in my meeting with the devil. Our exchange went something like this:
Satan: Back in my day, I would have gotten a whooping for acting like that in a store.
Me {Nicely}: Oh right. I don't believe in spanking like that. Thank you though.
S {Indignant}: What do you believe in? Look at the way he is acting. That child needs discipline. You should be disciplining him right now.
Me: He's normally very calm and well-behaved. He's obviously pretty tired and cranky, so -
S: The only thing that's obvious is that you don't discipline him at all.
Okay, lady. Wow. Maybe it was the cold, the cold remedies, or the exhaustion that comes with illness, but I had absolutely no retort for that. At least, not one I could say aloud. My brain was channeling Marsellus Wallace, but I simply turned around, picked up my bag-o-meds, and left. I think I even smiled at her. As I buckled my son into his car seat, I watched the woman smugly walk to her SUV. She glanced at me. I drove away, shaking with anger.
The unkind words of others, especially strangers, rarely bother me. I spent several years in print journalism, and have been called just about every ugly name that exists. What instead plagues me is the idea that strangers feel they have the opportunity -- nay, the right -- to vocalize their feelings about the parenting styles of others, with particular regard to discipline. I don't want to pretend to believe that people are without judgement. That's foolish. I'm guilty of it, though I wish I wasn't. But whereas judgement may be automatic, opening one's mouth to judge is not. I realize I don't know the entirety of everyone's situation. I realize life is harder for other people than it will ever (hopefully) be for me. Perhaps most importantly, I realize I need to keep my mouth shut when it comes to dealing with folks I don't know.
Which brings me back to el diablo. As angry as the drugstore devil's actions and words make me, I'm not upset at her disapproval of my style of parenting. In a weird way, I'm guessing she thought she was doing me a favor. Either that, or she was just in a really bitchy mood. In retrospect, I wish I had said more, not only to make myself feel better but also to put Lucifer's well-intentioned advice to bed for good, or at least the good of fellow parents out there. But I'm guessing that no matter my response, she'll just keep doling out the unsolicited advice. Her kind of fortitude is hard to kill, like a virus that doesn't have a cure. I'm not looking for a vaccine for these sorts of encounters, but a quick remedy would be nice.
