Thoughts from Tana ...<br>

Our six-year old granddaughters, Brooke and Kailey, were visiting for the weekend. While they were here, something happened that left some haunting feelings.

I had given my granddaughters matching outfits for Christmas, but when they put them on, the look-alike picture was not complete. The shoes Brooke wore with hers were black and Kailey had white sneakers.

My daughter, daughter-in-law and I decided to take the girls to find a black pair for Kailey. We found them at the second store we went to, which was crowded with after-the-holiday shoppers. I suggested that we split up, rather than wade through the crowded aisles together. I would pick up a few household items and my daughter, Betsy, would look for a board game she wanted. My daughter-in-law, Deborah, would stay with the girls, and we would meet at the checkout station in fifteen minutes.

That evening at dinner, my daughter-in-law said that she was troubled over something that happened during those few minutes when she was minding the girls. She explained that an elderly gentleman had approached her and asked if she minded if he talked to the girls.

Without thinking it over, she had nodded to him that it was okay. He told the girls they looked very cute in their outfits, asked how old they were and if they were having a good time. Then, smiling broadly, he pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed a one dollar bill to each of them. Then he went on his way.

Since the afternoon, the whole situation had been going through her mind. She kept wondering, did this send a mixed message to the girls about talking to strangers?

I told her that I honestly did not believe that any harm had been done. In the first place, he had asked permission to talk to the girls and she had given it. Second, I felt empathy for the man and was convinced that Deborah’s response to his request was an opportunity to demonstrate a lesson in humanity.

Immediately I recalled a day when another mother’s response had been quite different. I was in a store and saw a darling toddler. Not seeing another adult nearby, I knelt down and asked, “Where is your mommy, Honey?” No sooner had I spoken than a woman seemed to appear from nowhere. She snatched the child’s hand and, without a word, ushered her quickly away. It was an embarrassing, uncomfortable moment. Swallowing hard, I realized that the mother was either frightened or was using me as an example to the child, who was being taught never to talk to strangers.

Since that day, the experience has given me reason to hold myself in check regarding my response to children, and sometimes even to adults. To avoid any embarrassment, I have had second thoughts about patting a child on the head and making small talk with parents.

The act of shrouding my feelings doesn’t come naturally, and yet I find myself pretending I do not notice. I have tried to convince myself that this is as it should be. But something inside me wants to protest the climate of our time that is numbing our sensations and forcing us to isolate ourselves from one another.