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| Don't let the tie fool you. |
Our eldest son had a world class
talent.
World class.
If it had been an event in the
Olympics, he'd have taken home the gold.
But there wasn't.
And he didn't.
Maybe I should explain.
Mark was born with the ability to throw
a tremendous, colossal, stupendous, prodigious, enormous, fantastic,
howling, mind-blowing tantrum.
I know that many children do.
Even some adults.
But no one has ever done it quite at
the same level.
And he saved his best performances for
when we were in public.
Usually in the toy section of the local
department store.
Sigh.
When he was three, he gave his most
memorable performance.
Well, I certainly can't forget it . . .
He wanted a toy.
I can't remember which one, but he
wasn't getting it.
The family budget was already suffering
chills and fever.
Any unnecessary purchases would have
surely sent it into a coma.
We started to move away from said toy.
Mark realized that his begging and pleading had come to naught.
He dropped to the ground.
And began to flop around like a landed
fish.
Then the screams started.
Now, my Husby and I had learned that
that proper way to handle a tantrum was to just keep walking.
Which we did.
To this point, it had never worked.
We discovered that Mark could flop and
scream AND keep up with his moving parents.
See?
Skill and talent.
But this day was a little different.
This day, we had unexpected . . .
help.
As we ducked around the corner, and
before Mark could start after us, an elderly gentleman walked up to
our writhing boy and stood there, looking down at him.
Mark finally realized that someone was
standing beside him.
He opened his eyes.
To see a perfect stranger.
“I guess you'd better come with me,”
the man said.
Tantrum instantly forgotten, Mark
scrambled to his feet.
“MooooOOOOMMMMM!”
His father poked his head around the
corner.
Mark ran to him and grabbed him about
the knees in a grip fuelled by three parts fear and one part . . .
okay, four parts fear.
My Husby silently looked at the man.
Both of them smiled.
And just like that, Mark's public
tantrums were finished.
Oh, he still treated us to private
performances, but never again were we humiliated in public.
We often think of that man.
A father?
Grandfather?
Whoever he was, his wisdom . . .
. . . and timing . . .
Were one of the greatest blessings of
our parenting years.
I wish we could tell him.
