I just got off the train where at one of the final stops a “mother” got on with a stroller and a seven year old. I know that the girl was seven because it came up as a part of the mother’s rant.

The girl wet herself on the train, and if you’ve ever witnessed a spill on the train, there is hardly anything more of a taunt than a liquid ebbing and flowing with the starts and stops of the train and changes of pace, right in front of the culprit. It is a reminder that will simply not go away. I understand the mother’s embarrassment. And the child’s.

Yet, cursing at the kid wasn’t helpful and I am not sure at which point precisely the child started to wail – when she realized that she had wet herself and lost control, or if the mother had followed through on one of her many loud and menacing f-bomb laden threats to hit the child about the face. After the third threat (accompanied by the wail) and before I realized that urine was see-sawing centimeters from my orange (salmon?) converse, I turned around to discover the actors in this tragedy. I was incensed. On the train were roughly 80 people whose attentions were mostly captured by the ruckus. 

I clearly and firmly told the mother to stop yelling at the child and said that children should be given the flexibility to make mistakes. This was not precisely my word choice, as I don’t precisely recall my choice of words. My firmness and annoyance though were unmistakable. I wanted to suggest that this is one major reason that girls of 14 or 15 come home pregnant because they are out “there” looking for love that should be found at home. I refrained. She suggested (loudly) that I mind my own business. I told her that she made it my business when she made me listen to her abuse her ward. 
She shut up, and so did I, but I kind of wish she hadn’t because I had a lot more to say, and I really felt like belting it. I really wanted to press her into thinking about any mistakes she’s made since being seven – I’d have pointed more explicitly to the mistake she was making right then. I permitted my response to stay balanced and pithy, but a diatribe was definitely ready to come spilling forth, ebbing and flowing all over whomever was close enough to be sprayed with it. And this isn’t the first time I’ve interjected on behalf of children in similar situations. It’s heartbreaking and bothersome each time. 

I always hope that I am not making things worse for the children, but my conscience won’t permit silence and my voice will hopefully remind parents to love and parent and not victimize the people they’re intended to protect. I’m grateful for my parents. 

No one on the train spoke up in defense of the child, but one woman gave me a thumbs up after the fact and another came up to me one stop later to thank me for “doing what I had to do”, but where was their voice when the innocent was being hurt? Why sneak me a flash of your wrinkled thumb, and whispered voice?

I don’t want your thumbs or you congratulations. I already know that what I’m doing is the right thing. Everyone knows it. So, do it too. Take a stand, don’t be afraid, don’t be ashamed. Some have said to me “be careful with that”, and I say “I’ll accept any consequences for doing the right thing and for doing what I believe”. I’m not special. This is only a reminder. Use your voices. Let your good hearts sing. I am not afraid.