A story about how I nearly lost all compassion for parents.
Asleep on the train
After having our first kid, I found that I had a new-found compassion for parents and the challenges that they go through in life. I got this feeling that a crying baby was a beautiful and wonderful thing, a short point in time, and something that we all should savor. I would get this feeling of shared experience every time I saw another dad giving his infant a bottle of milk.
When we traveled to Switzerland, I would look for other parents who were going to be on the flight, and reach out to them to let them know that we’re here too, to sort of give them that little wink that says “we’re all in this together.”
So, on the last leg of our flight back to California, we were in the Pittsburgh airport, and I saw another family with a little boy a little older than Mr. B. We were sitting there waiting for the delayed flight, and Mr. B was off exploring the water fountain, getting a drink, riding the moving sidewalk, pushing his stroller, and all manner of things that entertain little boys. The other family’s little boy was sitting in his stroller drinking a bottle of milk, and I didn’t think much of it.
We were on a flight leaving at 7pm heading west, and we had planned this to exactly coincide with Mr. B’s bedtime. We were tiring him out in the airport because we know that after a good session of crazy baby activities, he usually goes right to sleep. They called us for boarding, and our two families both got on the plane.
Mr. B, with his binkie and favorite blanket, snuggled into his car seat that was strapped into his chair.
The other families’ little boy was strapped into his chair, directly behind Mr. Busy.
Soon after the flight lifted off, Mr. Busy closed his eyes and gently went to sleep. It was going to be perfect. He was going to sleep all the way back to California. We were such perfectly equipped and prepared parents!
But, we had forgotten one last factor. The little 20 month old behind us began screaming, crying, kicking, and fussing himself into a furor. He was incessantly kicking the back of Mr. B’s chair, which inevitably woke him up, and like a lot of kids, Mr. B is pretty unhappy when he wakes up and is still tired.
Amazingly, the other family didn’t seem to be doing anything to calm down their little monster. They weren’t reading him any bedtime stories. He didn’t have his favorite blanket, and they weren’t talking to him softly about going to sleep. What they were doing was offering him toys, letting him watch TV, and engaging him in conversation.
I was floored. How could this family have a toddler on a plane at 8, 9, 10pm and not be putting him to sleep? How can he not be tired? Why aren’t they giving him a bottle of milk? Why do they keep talking to him about the stewardess? Why do they keep giving him that toy? Why are they letting him kick Mr. B’s chair? Don’t they hear me talking softly? Don’t they see me comforting him? Don’t they see how outrageous and annoying this is!?
My compassion was gone. What I realized at that point was that I could have taken their kid hitting my chair. I could have put in ear plugs, or just ignored it, or slept through the whole thing, or just not worried about it. But, Mr. B is just a little kid! He can’t wear earplugs, and doesn’t know how to ignore someone kicking his chair, and can’t look back and glare at them like I was trying to keep myself from doing.
Poor Mr. B was kept awake for an entire 5 hour long cross-country flight by a kid just barely older than he was. I was furious at the other family. How could they have let this happen! How could they have let their little monster keep my little angel awake all night? I’m still fuming just telling the story…
So, Mr. B survived, and I think I got some of my compassion back, but I realized something that day. My compassion towards parents has a limit. When their kids are doing something that makes my kid cry, and there’s no way out of the situation, then I get really protective and frustrated.
This is what I learned: When it comes to how others’ actions affect me, I can take it. I can deal with crying and kicking and fussiness. But, when this stuff affects my own kid, I just went berzerk. I think I did lose a little compassion that day, but I think everything’s going to be okay…
