A Righteous Anger
So this morning, I was at work at my new job. (Discount retailer. Toy department. Part time. Just for the holidays.) La-la-la, straightening the shelves, taking the frozen pizzas someone left on a shelf to the grocery department’s ruined items section, disposing of the can of silly string someone sprayed all over the aisles, watching a grandma help two kids pick out their Christmas presents, finding places to shelve newly-delivered toys. Standard stuff. Pretty pleasant, in fact, early in the morning with next to no one around.
Except, see, the two kids with the grandma were a little girl of six, and a little boy who seemed to be between two-and-a-half and three-and-a-half. Prime tantrum age, right? And he didn’t understand at first that they weren’t there to buy a toy, just to look and to form a little wish list.
So naturally there was a bit of, “No, we’re not getting that today.” The girl took it in stride, and the boy seemed to, but a few minutes later they were an aisle over from me, and I could hear Grandma getting on to him again, more harshly. “Why can’t you be like Meredith? She doesn’t have to whine when she can’t have something! Why you gotta throw a fit!”
I hadn’t heard any fit thus far, just the cry of outrage that many a thwarted toddler will give. A few minutes later, they passed close to me, in the main aisle. And the little boy is chasing along, clearly unhappy, and being told only, “No! You better just act right. We’re not getting anything today! You be good or I’ll never take you anyplace again!”
At which he falls to his knees, crying with hurt feelings on top of his frustration.
So Grandma says to him, harshly, “You better get up from there or I’m going to kick you where it counts!”
And I’m standing there straightening a shelf not 20 feet away, trying not to be too obvious about the baleful glare I’m sending her way. If she had actually laid a hand (or foot!) on him, I’d have called Child Services; I’d have liked to do so anyway, but I know there’s little they can do about verbal abuse. I want to be shocked that she didn’t care that I was standing there listening, but I’ve seen too many people who think this is an acceptable way to discipline children to be truly surprised.
So tell me: what would you do? Has anyone out there found a way to intervene in a situation like this that will actually leave the adult thinking about what it is they’re doing? Because I can’t stand being only a witness to this scene. Fifteen hours later, I’m shaking with a protective fury for that boy.
