| We see it everywhere. A tired parent, at the end of
a stressful day, loses it - and a child suffers. We'd like to help
if we could, but we hesitate. Is it our business to intervene? And
if we do, will we embarrass and antagonize the parent, imperiling
the child even more? Will we make the mistake of harshly telling a
parent to be gentle with her children? Isn't it more tactful to
walk past without comment? After all, none of us is a perfect
parent.
There seems to be a common assumption in our society that
intervening on behalf of a child in a public place is necessarily
hurtful and critical. It need be neither. There is a world of
difference between officious, hurtful criticism ("How dare
you treat your child like that?") and helpful intervention
done in a caring way ("It can be really hard to meet their
needs when you're so busy. Is there anything I can do to
help?") There is nothing inherent in intervention that
requires one to be offensive. The sheer act of offering assistance
to the parent, or comfort to the child, need have no offending
qualities at all.
I have successfully intervened by offering to find a mother's
groceries, helping a child pick up dropped toys, and helping a
mother dress a tired toddler. All of these women were genuinely
grateful, thanked me for helping, and immediately began treating
their children with greater compassion. I always carry colorful
stickers, which I have found can work magic for distracting a
tired, bored, or fussy child whose parents may just be too
exhausted to be patient. When the child is happier from this
unexpected gift (not just the sticker but the gentle attention and
eye contact) the parents often relax and can even be a bit
energized from the experience. We can intervene in a positive way,
and give the message that we care about both the parent and
child.
Many in our society make a second common assumption, that the
choice we have is to give a message to the parent (and the child)
or to give no message at all. But "giving no message" is
not, in fact, one of our choices. We give as clear a message by
walking past a distraught child as we do by intervening. Walking
past, we give the message to the child that no one cares about his
suffering, and to the parents we give the message that we approve
of their actions.
I have been asked if I advocate intervention in every case of
potential abusiveness, including, presumably, that of a merely
sad-looking child; of course 1 do not. But there is a big
difference between a child crying for no apparent reason and one
who is crying because he has just been hit hard, insulted, or
completely ignored. But even if a baby Is crying for mysterious
reasons. the parent might still welcome an offer of assistance. A
simple offer to help, spoken pleasantly, is nonjudgmental and, in
my experience, always welcomed. How unfortunate that the taboo
against public intervention has prevented parents from helping
each other in stressful situations.
Babies cry for many reasons; we should not assume that the
parent is at fault with only circumstantial evidence. Yet my
friends and I have witnessed some really harmful acts: slapping,
hitting, shoving, arm-yanking, pinning against a wall, severe
verbal abuse, negative labeling, hurtful comparisons to siblings,
and so on. These children accept this treatment because they are
too helpless and inexperienced to stand up for themselves. Should
we, who are older and wiser, simply walk past an obviously abusive
situation? At exactly what point should we step in? Should
we wait until the child is the victim of a severe physical
assault? But assault takes many forms. Just because emotional
abuse leaves no outward scars should not excuse us from helping
these children. Those of us who can recognize damaging treatment
have an obligation to step in (and again, this can be done in a
compassionate and helpful way).
There is one more reason for intervening that Is nearly always
overlooked in these discussions, but which I consider to be the
most significant: the lifelong effect it can have on the child.
Many adults in counseling sessions still recall with gratitude the
one time that a stranger stepped in on their behalf, and how much
it meant: that someone cared, and that the child's feelings of
anger and frustration were recognized and accepted. These adults
have stated to me (and to other psychologists)that this one
intervention changed their lives and gave them hope.
Are we to bypass the opportunity to make such a profound
difference in the life of a child?
Even in the unfortunate - and hopefully rare - case where the
parent is offended, the intervention may still act as a reminder
to the parent to be more attentive to the nature of their
interactions with their child.
Psychiatric case histories clearly show that today's
psychopathic adults were yesterday's hurt children. There is no
time machine we can take to help yesterday's children. But we can
help today's children to become secure and responsible adults who
will treat their own children with dignity, love, and compassion.
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