When a stranger galls

THE other night, a woman we don’t know shook my two-year-old by the arm and shushed her. It could have been a wiggle, a break-dancing move, if she had been playing. And if she had not had an expression of extreme annoyance on her pinched face. It might have been alright.

It might have been alright had she not looked like a cross between Cruella de Vil from 101 Dalmatians and The Trunchbull from Matilda . She wanted to discipline a child she did not know. It might have been alright if toddlers would heed the discipline of strangers or if they knew how to sit down and be quiet.

They don’t and are not made that way. If they were, they would be born disciplined, boring adults who follow all the rules and do whatever they are told all the time.

It also might have been alright if we had any inkling of who Cruella was. Then, possibly, we would have accepted mild discipline from the elder. But she was a random stranger. And that is not alright. Ever.

Of course a toddler will display their worst behaviour in public.

We also chose to subject her to a late night, a loud and overwhelming religious service, at her evening winding-down time. And we chose to subject her to people who were after an experience that does not involve wily children.

We did this only because we had been assured, repeatedly, by the hosts and congregation, that everyone understood the nature of young children. It was something many parents attending the service had been through over the years themselves.

We, too, have been subjected to other toddlers and their crazy energy. We were patient, even if we did not understand it at the time. Those kids grew up, and sat down quietly eventually.

Cruella was new. Older, and obviously impatient. I don’t know if she has children, grandchildren or if she was ever a child herself. Probably not.

But I wanted to tell her how toddlers require the patience of maturity. How I, as a 20something, did not have it myself. Some days I still don’t have it.

How I understand that some choose to avoid showing patience all their lives, and understandably get annoyed in child-inappropriate settings. But this was a grey area. We had an agreement. People would be patient, and we wouldn’t subject them to the child, who did not ask to be there, too often.

All this, I wanted to share with her. But, out of respect for the peace and harmony of the service, I did not.

At the time, I managed a steely stare and moved away. I politely declined when she tried to make up by calling the child over.

(Of course a toddler would not go to that hand, we’ve read Hansel and Gretel to her, she knows better.)

I meant to say everything afterwards, quietly, but she had flown off on her broomstick too quickly for any exchanges. Maybe we will see her again. As for the toddler, she was mostly unfazed by the shaking. As the tape plays over in my mind, the shaking has become more violent and vigorous and Cruella has grown more pinched and shrivelled, with warts on her nose and dark, stoney eyes.

The child was quiet for all of two minutes after the shaking. Then she continued to dance around the room and occasionally made a noise, played with things that were not meant to be toys, happy in her own world where everything is an adventure. As they do, at age two. Some among us seem to forget. LS