This story has come to mind several times in the past few weeks, so I thought I would share. 

Twelve years ago, Amy was three, Joel was two, and Patrick was a tiny baby.  During that season, there were many days when I would load the kids in the van, unsure of where we were going, but desperate to go somewhere, anywhere.  One day,  I chose to go to the Dairy Queen on University since they had a Duplo table to keep the children occupied while I soothed my ache with a Butterfinger Blizzard. We ate some ice cream and they played for a few minutes, but the children’s behavior quickly began to deteriorate.

I don’t remember now who started to fuss, but by the time I finally got everyone bundled up and headed for the door, all three children were wailing.  Of course, I felt like everyone was staring at me, but there was one man in particular whose glances toward us were unmistakable.  He was probably in his late fifties and he was sitting at a corner table eating lunch with his wife. I knew what he was thinking.  He was wondering why I had all these kids out in public if I couldn’t control them.  He was wondering if I knew what a disturbance we were causing.  He wanted to know how in the world I could let myself be whipped by someone who only weighed twenty pounds.  

  I tried to keep my head down, not to meet his glances, and to keep walking, but the tension was mounting.  You see, I had two hands to carry an infant carrier and to hang on to two toddlers who did not want to leave.  I felt my face get hot and my throat tighten and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man get up and start to walk toward me.  He moved slowly and cautiously toward the door where we were headed.  I must have winced as he approached, bracing myself for the worst, but to my surprise, his voice was quiet. “Can I help you?” he asked.  I must have looked startled, but he went on.  “I could carry something. Where is your car?”  I nodded vigorously and handed him the diaper bag and pointed to our van just outside the door, which he opened for us and held until we were all outside.  He proceeded with us to the van and helped me to get everything loaded, and then he said, “you know, we raised four children ourselves, and they are all grown now, but I remember these days.  This really is the hardest part.”  I think all that I could manage was a “Thank you. Thank you so much”, but I have never forgotten this man.  

I would like to tell him thank you again.  Thank you for offering to help me instead of criticizing me.  Thank you for not telling me to “just wait until they are teenagers”.   Thank you for taking a risk to reach out to me.  You made a difference.