Stuck In The Rain

I was having one of those mornings where my anxiety was high. I was running around the apartment trying to get myself and the kids ready for the day. My repetitive requests to the kids to brush their teeth, put their dishes in the sink, their snacks in their backpacks, to make their beds, and to stop playing sounded like a broken record mixed with a kitchen in a fast paced restaurant. In my early twenties, I waited on tables in my father's NYC restaurant. It was a tiny, busy place where we would call out the order to the short order cook in the corner. I never got used to the fact that you did not have to be polite and say please, or make eye contact. I had to adjust to not getting a response but to assume the request was received; it always was. Unlike that experience, in my home, requests get called out, but often I never know if anyone is taking action on them, or if they've been heard at all. Nothing was new about any of this on this particular day, but I had a busier work load all week and was nervous about teaching a new class in the afternoon. On top of this usual, morning rush, it was pouring rain.

As I stood by the door with my dog, trying to get the courage to dash the few blocks to get the car to pick up the kids, I felt dread. This day was going to be hard, I could tell. I took a deep breath and entered the downpour. I came back for my kids, one of which still did not have his sneakers on, despite my request that they be ready to go. He had nothing left to do but that one thing! I even saw him nod that he received the order! What on earth was he doing? Sigh. But, gosh I love his sensitive soul so much.

We arrive at the school and I decide I am going to do something easier for me and drop them off as opposed to parking the car and walking them in. I made sure they crossed the street safely, kissed them, and sent them on their way. As I got back in my wet dog smelling car, I notice in front of my car was a woman standing in the rain with an umbrella, pleading with her son to get out of the trunk of her SUV. I see her son mouthing the words "no," arms crossed, defiant. I can see, from her body language, the mom is getting more and more frustrated. It is pouring rain, her son won't get out and my gosh, she has a baby strapped on her chest. Without giving it a second thought, I opened my door and approached the scene. I asked if she wanted help. She looked at me as if my offer was as useless as a screen with holes in it. I ignored her defeated look and looked at the boy instead. I said, "do you not want to go to school?" He shook his head. I nodded in empathy. I asked what grade he was in. "2nd," he said.  I said, "oh wow, my kids are in second, too, who do you have?" Then he corrected himself with his mom's help. He was really in first grade. I asked if he had any friends from the previous year in his class and he shook his head. His mom informed me that they had just moved from Brooklyn (as has everyone else around here). I said, "oh" in that drawn out way when you suddenly have a deeper understanding. I asked if there was anything at all in the school day that he liked and named some subjects. He said, "no." I said, "wow, that is hard." Stumped as to what to say next, I stumbled something else out of my mouth and the next thing I knew, the boy was sliding out of the trunk onto the wet street." The mother thanked me and continued on with her son. I turned to go back to my car and called out asking his name. He told me and I said, I'd remember it. I rarely remember names, but I remember his. It all happened as quickly as a flash flood. I drove away thinking of this woman having just moved from Brooklyn with an adjusting 5 year old and a baby. Of course she would be getting frustrated in that moment standing in the pouring rain with an infant on her front. Who wouldn't! I felt flooded with compassion and then realized there was something magical about what had happened there. Suddenly, I was in a great mood. My morning felt hard, but when I saw someone else struggling, unbeknownst to me, I came right out of myself. I had a much greater purpose before me than to lament about my rushed, bull-horned morning, soaked shoes, wet dog smelling car, and nervousness about my class.

I drove on and thought about the boy, about how stuck he was in that moment. His feelings had a grip on him and he was caught in reaction to them and to his mom. I knew what this felt like. Something needed to interrupt the process going on inside him and that was all I did. I didn't say or do anything magical. I simply identified with his pain and broke the undertow he was caught in and it was done. Sometimes I wish someone would interrupt my thought and feeling processes and help me reboot again. What I was reminded of on this day is that we can do that for each other. It is made possible when our senses are open enough to see, hear, and feel what is present around us and when we have the trust in ourselves that we might have a gift to share in that moment, even if we don't know what it will look like. Our presence alone is often enough.

Between my own difficult start to the day and watching this other mother's, I wondered what it would be like if raising children was not an isolated act, but where we could depend on the community to help when we are at our wits end. What would it take, especially living in the suburbs, to create that sense of support? Could that moment I had with the mother and son, if performed in much greater numbers, be all it takes to make a difference? I'd be happy to do more. Of course, it won't always be appropriate to step in, but my eyes and heart can be open to give and receive when the circumstances do seem right.

I went on with my day feeling connected to my clients and at ease and in flow with my class. At one point, I looked out the small window that graces my underground office and saw that the sun was shining. My predictions on the day had been all wrong. It turned around thanks to that boy. He doesn't know, but we helped each other that morning.