Recently I was shopping in my local Trader Joe’s. There was a young mom pushing a cart through the store, one child, maybe four years old, riding in the kid seat, and another slightly older and clearly a sibling, walking along side Mom. The child in the cart’s seat was alternately happy and content, and angry and vocal. Very vocal. Mom did a lot of ‘shushing’ and looking over her shoulder, as if to assess the audience. Hoo, boy. Took me back to my daughter’s early childhood, which, coincidentally, was also my early days of first-time motherhood.
I was in a Ralphs store, trying desperately to finish my grocery shopping before my kid melted down completely. She had not yet been diagnosed as special needs; I resisted looking down that path for a few years. I usually got the shopping done while she was in someone else’s care, but for some reason this day I had her with me. I think she was about five years old, probably before entering kindergarten. I thought something might be different about my kid, but I was recently divorced, and it had been textbook messy. There was a little voice in my head, sounding a lot like my ex-husband, that said she was fine, it was me screwing up, as a less than capable parent. All I knew for sure is that I worked very hard to not give in to her demanding tantrums. Consequently, I spent a lot of private time crying, from the wear and tear, and the self doubt, and a lot of public time looking apologetically over my shoulder. This day in Ralphs, we’d made it into the check-out line. She was screaming, demanding I buy every pack of candy in sight. I had a hold of her wrist, repeating “no” and “stop it” as if it was a meditation mantra. I was near to tears as I felt so many pairs of eyes on us, and saw so many pairs of lips drawn tight in disapproving frowns.
My turn with the cashier. It’s a little tricky to maneuver a wallet with only one hand while the other is clamped around a tantrumming child’s wrist in a death grip. I was crying a little by now, and the clerk leaned over and patted my (free) arm and said, “you’re doing a great job. You can’t give in to her.” I managed the transaction, and turned to grab the cart with one hand. The manager came over and offered to carry my daughter out to my car. My eyes got huge and I told him I was afraid she would kick him. He smiled and said it was no problem. He reached down and scooped her up, slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and headed out the door to the parking lot. I followed dumbly with the cart of groceries, then he dropped in behind me as I led us out to the car. He held her until I got the bags in the back, then he put her in her car seat, not letting go until I had her buckled in. He took the empty cart and waved good-naturedly. Wow.
Back in Trader Joe’s, this animated child could be heard periodically throughout the store. I was checking out and packing my grocery bags when a particularly loud wail carried over to my young checker and me. He rolled his eyes and said, “that kid- he just won’t shut up!” He was absolutely annoyed. I said, “yeah, I had a kid like that. Really smart, but different brain wiring. Sometimes very well behaved, sometimes definitely not. I thought about giving that mom a hug and telling her to hang in there, but I didn’t want to make her cry.” My clerk looked at me for a moment, then didn’t say another word, but his face told me he was thinking, reassessing.
I wish I had hugged that mom.
September 13, 2010 begins ADHD Awareness Week. Pass it on.
