Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-02-05 - 7:07 a.m.

Borderlines

I just came back from shopping at Ross for work clothes, and I'm not happy.

It wasn't the pants; I found two pair, and bought them. It was something else. Something I'm confused about.

There was a woman there, a thirtyish woman, Oriental, with two kids. I'd guess the boys were about six and two. She'd been shopping for quite a while when I got there, had a cart full of stuff. Shortly after I arrived, she realized she'd lost the younger boy and freaked, in a state of high tension nearing panic, with a real razor edge to it. She whipped the cart around the store, alternately screeching the boy's name and berating the older boy for not watching him properly. I felt bad; I lost a kid in Ross once, too, and I know that panic. But to take it out on a seven-year old who never should have been "in charge"...well, not my business. The baby turned up in the dressing rooms.

I kept shopping. I'm kid-free, so I tried on about a dozen things just for fun. I poked around and wandered through Juniors for nostalgia, and bathing suits for a little masochism, and saw a few glittery things Older Daughter would die for, and generally shopped in leisure. When I went to the counter with my two pairs of pants, this cart with this woman's children was STILL THERE. We're talking nearly an hour after she lost the younger boy. The woman is several aisles away shopping and talking on her cell phone. The baby is fussing fussing because he's been sitting in the cart for an hour. Patrons in line are muttering about the whole thing. Older Brother amuses himself by clapping baby on the ears, not exactly a good idea. Mother rushes by with an armful of stuff, berates boy for not watching closely enough, and gives Baby a smack for fussing. I'm watching this, and I'm feeling a bit sick. Children unattended, baby smacking...when does it cross the line into...into what, exactly? Shit.

I paid, watching her. She popped the baby another small one, and he screamed at her, "Go HOME!" He wants to go home, or he wants HER to go home. He's miserable, Older Boy is miserable, and she's shopping at Ross. I paid and left.

Once I intervened, years ago, when I saw a mother abusing her child at the park. It would be a long story, but it's enough to say that it was clear and present and no one with children could have walked away from it. In the end, after a loud disagreement, I ended up yelling after the child, who had been told to run his ass HOME, "This is NOT YOUR FAULT. You REMEMBER that the lady in the park told you so - it is NOT YOUR FAULT." It was the only good I felt I could do. Maybe he'll remember. Maybe it will help when he's getting hit. I don't know.

What is our business? What isn't? Kids, of course, belong to the world; but I only think of intervening because I'm so sanctimoniously sure I'm right. When a man in the grocery store told me daughter her thumb would dissolve if she kept sucking it, I could have killed him. He had no right, no right at ALL, to speak to my daughter and tell her crap. But he probably thought he was helping me out, maybe helping her break a bad habit. He thought he was right. I think I'm right. But at what point is there an imperative to intervene with someone else's kids? Who the hell do I think I am anyway?

I felt bad, leaving the store. I don't have any answers, but perhaps I missed a chance. Maybe she's a single parent with no one to help her out. Maybe she hasn't had a minute to herself for six years. Maybe she knows she's wrong but she can't find her way out of the anger. Maybe if I'd said, "Parenting is really hard, isn't it? " we could have struck up a conversation, and maybe some good would have happened. Maybe. And maybe I'm just a self-righteous Parenting Nazi, walking around thinking I'm the Patron Saint of Mothers and dispensing cheap advice based on my less-than cereal-box credentials. Would that be better than being a cowardly fence-sitter waiting for someone to PUSH her off on one side or the other? Shit.

I'll bet SHE'S not thinking about it, but I still am.

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