Losing It, Finding It

The mall was particularly crowded and noisy that Sunday afternoon. My son, a very high-energy six-year-old, pulled us into every toy store to check out the newest action figures or anything else that caught his eye with the single-mindedness that only a six-year-old can muster. My brother was content to be out of the confinement of the depressing facility for adults with retardation that was then his home. He wanted to talk, drink coffee and smoke. His goals also included getting some cool sunglasses, but he was generally enjoying just being with the family.

I needed a watch battery and a few other necessities. My grandmother, visiting from Florida, probably wanted to just sit down and relax and not do the mall crawl as we plodded on, attempting to meet all our divergent needs. My wife stoically endured as she kept our human caravan together amidst the crowds. But I was in charge.

The mall excursion had been my idea. I thought it would give all of us some quality time together. But the only quality that we all seemed to share was that our nerves had begun to be a bit frayed by the strain and tedium of the overall experience.

As we ended the long afternoon and headed for the exit, my son burst between two adults lost in talk, causing them to stop and stare at the little person who had interrupted their conversation. The tension I had been carrying was quickly intensified and found a righteous focus. I didn't snap--I boiled over. As a conscientious father, I chose to stop, confront my son, and demand that he return and apologize to the strangers for his rudeness. I spoke to him in a harsh, judgmental tone. Frozen, he gazed at me, unblinking, in embarrassed silence.

I could feel my internal-intensity ratchet tighten as I insisted that he make amends at once to the two people who now stood in silent witness to our confrontation. My wife quietly suggested that we take up the matter later. I flatly stated that this was the time, and mine was the way.

Continued on page 2: I bore down heavily as his gaze dropped to the floor... »