The downtown No. 4 train was packed.
When I got on, I glanced around for a place to sit.
The couple who boarded before me were each navigating large pieces of luggage but managed to find an area to stand in front of a seated family of four. The family was comprised of a female guardian, a male guardian, a young boy, possibly, 4/5/6 years of age, and a young girl, possibly, 5/6 years of age, sitting on the male guardian's lap. The young boy was sitting very close to the female guardian and absently twirling a lock of her shoulder length brown hair in his right hand.
"Would you like to sit?" The female guardian adjusted her glasses as she spoke to the couple with the luggage.
The couple declined.
"Are you sure? We just have two more stops?"
Again, the couple declined, this time, smiling and verbalizing their, "Thanks."
I tuned out but not before filing away the thought, 'I don't believe I have ever witnessed someone with young children offer up their seat to someone else before. I'm sure it happens, case in point, but I don't remember seeing it before.'
With that in mind, I settled into my standing position next to a pole. Wrapping my left arm around it for additional balance, I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander as the train closed its doors and continued the journey to the next stop.
A few minutes later, I tuned back into the world around me when I heard some laughter followed by a sound of displeasure. Once again I found myself observing the family of four.
Something had occurred that had the little boy laughing and the female guardian untangling his hand from her hair. It appeared that the male guardian hadn't seen what occurred but echoed the boy in laughter.
"You're laughing," the woman addressed the man, exasperated. "But he just clocked me in the face."
Suddenly serious, the man looked at the boy. "You don't clock Mommy in the face."
Undoubtedly triggered by the word, "clock" and the seriousness with which it was delivered, the little boy started laughing again.
"It's not funny," the mother replied. She didn't raise her voice. But there was also nothing passively aggressive in her statement or demeanor. She was calm, focused and completely serious. "You have to apologize."
"Sorry, Mommy," the boy replied, traces of amusement still coloring his expression.
Steadily watching her son's face, the mother shook her head and repeated, "No, you have to apologize."
"Sorry, Mommy," the boy said again, this time with the humor gone, but eyes withholding contact.
"No," the mother repeated. "You have to apologize and mean it."
A few moments of silence passed, and then the boy looked over at her, and made eye contact. "Sorry, Mommy."
All this time, throughout this interaction, the Father has been quiet but completely focused on the exchange.
Once again, although this time unprompted, the boy repeated, "Sorry, Mommy," and something about this final one convinced her and she accepted his apology.
After a brief moment, the father raises his right hand, and a few seconds later, the mother meets it with her left, culminating in a gentle high five.
I loved it. I loved everything about this interaction. I loved how the mother stayed on topic with her son. I loved that she patiently waited for him to transition from humor to connecting to the seriousness of the situation. I loved that although the father was quiet, he was very present to what was happening and his support of her was crystal clear. I loved the gentle high five. To me it said, 'Good work. I support you. We're in this together. Team Parents, Go!' I loved that even when the child saw the initial humor, both parents patiently held space for the seriousness of the situation. One didn't blow it off. Neither blew it off. Neither party came across as frustrated. Neither party emotionally or physically threatened the child. And the length of the journey taken to communicate the seriousness of the situation didn't feel rushed. The child said sorry a number of times, but the mother knew the difference in those notes and waited for the one that rang as the most conscious.
I loved witnessing it all.