Why So Mean?

Today I was waiting on the subway platform waiting for the express train when a dad about my age and a boy about Lily's age came up and stood beside me, waiting themselves. My mind had been wandering, but for some reason I started listening to them talk. 

"I'm so cold," the little boy complained. He was wearing a parka over a t-shirt but no hat or mittens, and today was bitterly cold in New York. The father, who looked pleasant if a little bit tired, shook his head. 

"You know what, buddy?" he said, in a tone that sounded vaguely familiar. "I told you it was freezing out, and you refused to wear what I set out for you. There's nothing to be done. You're just going to have to be cold." The boy hunched over and pulled his hands inside his sleeves. His face fell. The father folded his arms and stared down the tunnel at the empty tracks. He did not look at his son, who just stood there, lower lip protruding, shivering. Finally, the local train came, and the father carefully, lovingly, almost involuntarily, put his hand on his son's shoulder to direct him onto the train with him. The boy leaned into him slightly as I watched them get on from the platform.

Then, I gauged my reactions to the scene. Standing there alone, without my children, I had bristled when the man spoke harshly to his son. His voice had oozed frustration, sounded cold and unfeeling. The poor boy, I had thought. He's so small. He's cold. And his father's being a jerk. Why so mean? Then, I realized why his tone had sounded so familiar. Exasperation. It colors my voice too, so very often, sometimes merited, other times maybe not so much. And then I remembered a virtually identical cold weather gear scenario I'd had with Lily not so long ago, and so many more of the, "No, you can't bring Toy X because I will end up carrying it and I have too much to carry and fine, if you promise you'll carry it," and then flash forward to five minutes later as I stagger down the sidewalk with Annika, two bags of groceries and an enormous elephant in a doll stroller under my two, yes only two, arms, Lily stomping beside me, upset but still defiant, made indignant by my perfectly legitimate annoyance.

I think I am going to try to have the "Why so mean?" reaction more often when I hear my own voice take on this tone, however earned the anger fueling it. Apparently, it takes a long time to learn that an enormous elephant in a doll stroller is unwieldy to carry down a city sidewalk. But there are a lot of things I am still learning myself with the benefit of years of experience. 

Lily is preoccupied somewhat these days by the differences between children and adults. Although I often think children get the long end of the stick, one big one occurred to me today. Adults don't get reprimanded for trying to figure stuff out.