The Tantrum

300 words

I used to be quick to emotion. I would curl up under the covers in my bed and sob for hours over the smallest slight or failure. That was before my child gave me the gift of perspective.

Once, I took my three year old son Daniel to the zoo. As we started through the entrance, he tried to squeeze ahead of the family in front of us. "Excuse me," he piped while trying to push his way past. However, since he was only at waist level, the family did not notice him and kept going.

"I wanted to be in the middle, Mommy," Daniel fretted. I did not even understand him and told him to just stay at my side. He repeated the complaint more desperately. He started breathing faster. "I WANTED TO BE IN THE MIDDLE," he began yelling. A flood of tears and spit and snot sputtered from his reddened face. He started to hyperventilate. Other families passed, looking upon us with disgust or pity. Soothing words came to no avail. Threatening to go home only turned his cries into desperate shrieks. This continued for ten agonizing minutes. Finally, I scooped him up and carried my whimpering, kicking, squirming child into the zoo. As we struggled along the path lined with caged animals, we passed a family who had stopped to look at some owls. Daniel's attention was riveted to them as we went by.

As quickly as they had appeared, the clouds in my son's face vanished and his disposition became sunny again. "I'm in the middle now," he said happily, skipping ahead of me along the zoo path. Amazed, I looked back at the family by the owls. They were the same ones he had unsuccessfully tried to pass at the gate.