I spent three wonderful weeks on a family trip to Ireland this past August. When, like me, you have two young children with you, a trip like that isn’t exactly a vacation. It’s an adventure.

Travel puts a lot of stress on kids and families. So while there are sights to see, wonders to explore and memories to be made, there are also many hurdles to overcome. One important thing I learned on this trip is that no matter who or what you encounter while traveling, kindness matters.

I’m going to start with the end of the story. We returned home after an eight-hour flight from Dublin to Philadelphia. The time difference was a killer, and there was no food on the plane my kids were willing to eat. My daughter, age 5, sat next to me on that incredibly long, exhausting flight. She’d made it through the plane ride without too much fuss. However, by the time we gathered our baggage in Philly, the stress of the journey and the exhaustion of a three-week trip all came crashing together.

She screamed. She threw a massive tantrum in the terminal. Hungry and exhausted, the one thing my daughter wanted and needed was to hold my hand. I happily offered it despite trying to juggle suitcases. I understood how upset she was and I wasn’t mad at all.

Then a stranger approached us.

This woman marched straight to my daughter and me and announced in a booming voice, “You’re parenting all wrong. You need to beat some sense into that girl.”

WTF.

I didn’t curse. Instead, I told the woman she was wrong and to leave us alone. I was appalled. And angry. This stark, crazy scene felt like a “Welcome back to ‘Murica” moment for us. Because one thing we’d seen in Ireland was a completely different attitude toward children. One I was not accustomed to.

Kindness.

Changes of countries, changes of attitudes

Everywhere we went in Ireland, people bent over backward to be kind and help. It didn’t matter if we were at a playground, in a department store or on a street. People saw that we had kids and treated us with great empathy and compassion.

Two weeks before our encounter with rudeness upon returning home, we had an opposite experience. My 8-year-old son melted down on the streets of Killarney. He’d been refused a lollipop and decided that required staging a tantrum. He lay on the side of the parking lot near some pubs and refused to move. He screamed a bit too. And while my wife and I did our best to handle the situation, strangers came by.

“Is there anything I can do?” said one.

“Oh, I’ve been there,” said another. “So sorry for this, but it’ll get better soon.”

Kindness. Just an attitude of kindness everywhere.

Perhaps it is a cultural thing. Irish laws are different. We quickly noticed every indoor area designed for kids (such as soft play centers) came equipped with a double-locking alarm mechanism to prevent kids from running out or strangers from going in. We noticed every place we went, even the tiniest middle-of-nowhere towns, had handicapped-accessible unisex bathrooms with changing tables — something we once struggled to find in America. Perhaps this mindset toward a “care culture” transcended laws and permeated into the general public?

Kindness comes in many forms

As we explored Ireland, we kept encountering that same kindness again and again.

One restaurant had nothing the kids wanted to eat. The chef marched out, offered to make something just for them, and soon did.

Our kids appeared bored while we checked into one hotel. A worker spotted them and then hurried over with coloring books.

When we tried taking a tour that was sold out, a stranger offered us his tickets on the spot, noting that I had younger kids than he did.

These were not isolated incidents. They were a pattern of kindness and compassion and understanding that children have different needs, everywhere we went in the country.

Back to that moment in Philly. Perhaps that woman was an isolated example. Or perhaps not. I vented about her rudeness later to a friend in New York. My friend said that three times in the past month someone told her to beat her son. This advice came from strangers who didn’t know her or her kid. The expectation to some is that kid needs and adult needs are the same, therefore kid behaviors and adult behaviors are the same.

I’m no longer mad at the rude woman. I feel sorry for her. And I feel sorry for everyone else who thinks it’s appropriate to say such things to parents. In the future, I wish all people, parents and non-parents alike, would treat others with a bit more kindness.

The world could use some more of it right about now.

Photo by Yan Krukau via Pexels.com

My oldest was sick and pitching a fit. My youngest, also sick, was crying as she claimed, “I can’t breathe.” Meanwhile, my middle child was crying because, well, everyone else was crying, so why the hell not? Meltdowns, meltdowns, everywhere!

My wife and I made eye contact with one another. Then we both began laughing like The Joker hatching a grand plot to destroy Gotham.

Sometimes, the ship just sinks.

It’s no secret to any mom or dad that parenting is easily one of the hardest jobs in the world. Parents often feel out of control and ruled by their children’s whims. I’m not talking about bad discipline or poor parenting. Your kids hold your sanity and your very destiny, in some very real ways, in their hands – and I’m convinced they know it.

These moments of complete familial meltdowns felt like failure for a long time. Isn’t it my job to keep it all together? If I’m any good at this parenting thing, why can’t I always stop the kids from freaking out? Why can’t I calmly and rationally navigate the quagmire of endless variables to find a way to de-escalate this situation and bring peace to the family dynamic? Why?

Because, sometimes, the ship just sinks.

Meltdowns? Let ’em happen!

I’m not sure why that phrase has come to mean our home has descended into bedlam. Over the years, I’ve used the phrase to comfort myself. I visualize trying to save a cruise ship from sinking by bailing it with a cheap plastic cup. The phrase and visual remind me that no matter how hard you may try to keep everyone happy, you’ll eventually fail. On certain days, the kids conspire together to burn the universe down. Resistance to their assimilation is futile. Like any cleansing fire, you just need to let it burn.

Sadly, I’m not here to offer advice on how to avoid the ship sinking. I say let it sink.

Let the kids cry a bit.

Let them feel their feelings.

This is not an invitation for them to run like banshees down supermarket aisles. However, when at home, trying to forcibly restore order can be more damaging. It often prolongs the suffering. When all three kids were crying, and my wife and I chose to laugh, it quickly diffused the situation. Each child slowly calmed down. This allowed us to address their issues – if possible – and slowly, calmly restore order.

It would be great if I could smugly proclaim this has always been my strategy. I’m an order guy. I like to tell the kids what to do, and I often demand they obey with little to no complaints. (I bet you’re laughing. You should be laughing!) But in reality that doesn’t often happen. The wisdom contained in my words has emerged from the fiery cauldron of failure and chronic mistakes. Some sort of super-powerful parenting physics law comes into play here: Every forceful and ill-fated action taken by parents to restore calm is often met with an exponentially greater reaction to resist desired calm. You just read it on the internet, so it’s irrefutable science.

Sometimes failure is an option

If your home is often plagued by full-scale meltdowns, I’d understand if you have adopted a different strategy. My wife and I only occasionally experience our Chernobyl, so it’s a bit easier to surrender to the moment. If your family dynamic is more complicated, maybe there are too many fires to let burn, but I hope the following encouragement soothes the scars.

It’s OK. It’s all OK.

I’m not offering a participation trophy. I’m speaking truth. Sometimes, the ship just sinks, and that’s OK. You’re not a failure. Your children aren’t monsters (well some are, but surely not YOURS). We all fail to maintain full unit cohesion every now and then. They may be tiny and cute, but those damn kids are still just people. Sometimes people suck. Sometimes, there’s not much you can do but step back, let it all burn down, and be there with a hug to cool things off.

The next time your neck deep in a kid-generated flood, remember you’re not alone. All across the world, maybe even the universe, there are parents witnessing the full meltdown of their brood. Whether it’s a spaceship, a cruise ship or a battleship, sometimes the ship just sinks. Let it happen, and I’ll see you on the other side.

Unless your kids really ARE monsters. In which case, build a submarine.

Photo by Keira Burton via Pexels.

Starting school was difficult for our family last year. Every morning for the first month my son Jake would seemingly break down when he got to the classroom, begging me not to leave. It broke my heart.

His teachers finally approached me and suggested he might do better if he had a consistent school-morning routine. At the time, we didn’t have one. Getting him ready for school was chaotic. So I developed a plan. He would wake up and go potty then have breakfast, get dressed and watch TV for a bit while we waited to walk out the door. Surely it would work.

It did for a while. Soon it turned back into chaos. Unfortunately, as a person with Tourette syndrome, I easily get frustrated. When facing an unexpected challenge, I can go from peaceful to rage in 2.4 seconds. And as always, frustration at home translated to a hard day at school for my son. I worried.

Finally, my wife reminded me of the unique connection I share with my son. We feed off each other’s moods. If I push, he pushes harder. If I were to loosen up and not be so rigid with his school morning routine, things might change for the better. Remain firm, yet flexible.

She was right. When I loosened the reins I found mornings became easier. When my son insisted on watching TV instead of getting dressed and having breakfast, I struck a bargain with him. Instead of forcing him into his room to get dressed before TV time, he could watch TV if he cooperates and gets dressed at the same time.

It also helped me to enter the school morning routine aware that he is not even yet 4 years old. It’s his job to push my buttons and I have to make sure he doesn’t get me riled up. His day at school depends on mornings with me being calm and peaceful. Now I know. And knowing is half the battle.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo: © Sidekick / Adobe Stock. This post first appeared on the NYC Dads Group blog in 2014.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one on setting limits with your child comes from 2010.

A friend of mine recently said parenting really starts when your baby becomes a toddler and starts to turn against you: resisting going to bed, testing what happens when they throw that very healthy food on the floor, and walking independently becomes climbing on the sofa, the coffee table, or the kitchen counter. (Check out our post on positive discipline.) I completely agree!

I attended an informative parenting discussion at the 92nd Street Y Parenting Center in Manhattan to educate and equip myself with more tools to face these challenges. Overall, I enjoyed listening to other parents vent their frustrations as well as share successes with limit setting. The key for me is to understand where to draw the line versus where to let things go. I don’t want to fight every battle and I don’t want to say “no” to too many things. As with teaching and learning, if we get things right in the early years, won’t it be easier to set limits later on?

There were so many key points shared throughout the night. The 92nd Y summarized many of them in their “suggestions to help with toddler behavior and setting limits.” Some are common sense, but together they form a nice roadmap to follow. Please take them more as food for thought than as rules to live by.

Setting limits for child behavior

• Think of discipline as guidance that helps toddlers in their ongoing behavior.

• Because they are changing and growing so rapidly, toddlers need rituals, routines, and regularity — they find this reassuring.

• Let them do things that they can do, even if it takes longer.

• Toddlers need limits to feel safe and cared for.

• Hitting and spanking doesn’t work. It shows kids that it is OK to hit and hurt people. Children will learn more from what you do than from what you say (actions speak louder than words).

• Reinforce positive behavior and try to ignore or discourage unsuitable behavior. “DISTRACT & REDIRECT” — offer substitutions and distractions in a positive way when possible.

• The limits you set should be clear, consistent and as few as possible.

• Make your environment as child-friendly as possible so you don’t have to say “no” all of the time.

• Toddlers don’t like big and abrupt changes. Give some advance notice when you will be changing an activity. Try to motivate them to the next activity by talking to them as you begin: “We’re leaving the park in a few minutes'” and then, “Let’s see what we can have for dinner.”

• Praise them when they follow your limits and encourage their progress.

• Keep bribes to a minimum. Sure, you may use the strategy on occasion, but the pattern can get out of hand.

• Don’t call children “bad” or “naughty.” It may hurt their self-confidence and they may learn to believe they are really “bad.”

• Toddlers learn a little bit at a time and need constant reminders.

• Tantrums are to be expected! Try to stay calm, consistent, reassuring and wait it out.

• Save “time outs” for rare occasions. Some parents don’t use them at all!

• KEEP YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR! In the heat of the moment, this one may be hard to keep in mind, but it is so important.

Photo: © luismolinero / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one comes from 2014.

Never did I think the person holding a screaming baby on a cross-country flight taking off at 5:30 a.m. would be me.

Yet there I was, returning to New York City with body odor ripening as my deodorant quickly vanished under the stress of what would be the flight from hell.

Ah, the joys of flying with your baby.

“Why me, God? What did I do to deserve this?” I thought while people searched for their seats and visibly prayed it wasn’t next to this dude with a 1-year-old screaming for freedom from his Baby Bjorn.

When the couple sitting next to me realized they were stuck with us, I apologized in an attempt to win some sympathy. It didn’t work. All I got in return was a look of disapproval.

After everyone buckled in and the lights dimmed for the takeoff of our five-hour flight, I followed our pediatrician’s advice and gave my son an eight-ounce bottle of milk. It was the first time since I woke him at 4 a.m. that he was silent. During those brief 10 minutes, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and calmed down.

It was then I realized nobody was going to say anything to my face and, besides, who cares what other people are thinking? If someone said something about me and my caterwauling baby son it would made them look like an ass. We were simply trying to get home.

Once I calmed down I could feel my son, who was strapped facing forward on my chest, fall asleep. I took another deep breath, closed my eyes, and slept for about an hour.

That’s when I had to use the bathroom.

The screaming baby airplane bathroom blues

When I closed the bathroom door the only thing I was thankful for was that I am not claustrophobic. Have airplane bathrooms shrunk? Maneuvering inside such a small space with a 22-pound kid strapped to you is like doing yoga inside a box.

My first option was to take my son out and place him on the floor while I peed. That thought went down the toilet when I looked down and saw water. And probably worse.

The second option: pee with him still strapped on. I hate to admit it but this wasn’t the first time I’ve done this. So how bad could it be?

I had to maneuver around to avoid peeing all over my son. Wailing soon ensued and my nerves shot through the low, slanted roof as I attempted to relieve myself. I was astonished that I managed to shoot in the right direction. “Damn I’m good,” I thought as I zipped up.

Now, time to change my screaming baby boy.

As I searched aimlessly around the small space for a changing table, I started to think I was still half-asleep. I splashed some water in my face to try and snap out of it. After another fruitless attempt, I opened the door to ask the flight attendant for help.

“This particular plane doesn’t have baby changing tables,” he said.

I closed the door, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. All I have to do is be quick about this, I thought. Piece of cake.

I took my son out of the Baby Bjorn and turned him toward me. “Sorry. There is no changing table so we’re going to have to do this old school on the toilet,” I said. I hugged him, placed the changing pad on the toilet lid then placed him on top. He had this look on his face of “what the hell are you doing to me?” that reminded me of Stewie from Family Guy.

Then he slipped off the toilet seat.

I imagined people in the last 10 rows of the plane hearing his screeching and thinking the worst. Sweat dripped from my forehead while I got him off the pee-covered floor. I cursed United Airlines.

After finally changing my son, I looked at myself squarely in the mirror and vowed out loud to myself, “Never again will I fly alone with my child.”

I know one thing is for sure, next time I see a father flying alone with a screaming baby I will go out of my way to say hello, tell him what my experience was like, and offer whatever assistance I can.

Photo: © Irina Schmidt / Adobe Stock.

Many fathers aim to be as inventive and fun as Bandit Heeler from the cartoon Bluey. Most of us wish we also had a way to easily hit the “reset” button on our kids when they misbehave. Recently, I’ve discovered you can combine the two ideas: spontaneous silliness meets the simplicity of the “Nurtured Heart Approach” reset.

Let me explain through examples.

I was having a rough day. A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day to borrow from a popular book. The sky was gray and my mood was grayer. I couldn’t deal with any more of my 3-year-old’s screams, and I was just soooo tired.

I picked up my 6-year-old son at school and saw at once that although we’d been apart all day, we seemed to have had similar days. His normally exuberant face was downcast, and his lips were curled into a frown. He might as well have gotten into the car with an actual raincloud overhead.

Things weren’t headed in a good direction. My 3-year-old daughter took a hard look at her sad-sack brother and grumpy dad, and she wound up a scream the way a major league pitcher winds up before a pitch. We needed a reset. And we needed some silliness.

That’s when the dragon attacked. (I’m a fantasy author so my mind seems to naturally go to dragons.)

I cried out, pointing through the car’s sunroof, and warned them to duck. The car swerved to avoid the blast of fire. When my son protested he didn’t see a dragon, I realized it was an invisible dragon. Another car swerve, and everyone was laughing — except the car behind me who probably thought I was nuts — but that was OK.

We veered from the normal route home and drove into the rainforest. There, monkeys attacked us. Then, we climbed a mountain with yetis before heading home. There were no gray clouds, no sad kids, and no sad dad.

Sometimes, you just need to go ragdoll on them

A similar reset occurred a week later. My daughter was being a “threenager” that day. (Three is an age I’m convinced exists to limit the population. That whole “terrible twos” thing is a lie: age two is great. But threes … oof.) I don’t even remember what the fuss was this time. I think she was angry that she had feet or that there was too much air in the world, or maybe that I existed.

I’d tried reasoning as calmly as I could. And then, she started demanding candy, which she was not getting. I believe she wanted candy as a reward for accepting that she had feet and the world had air. Honestly, I can’t recall.

But I do remember the scream-fest. It rose in decibels until the entire state of Delaware likely heard her. I know that’s not too impressive given Delaware’s puny size. Still, it was pretty loud.

So, I stopped. Literally. Borrowing a trick from the Bluey episode ‘Ragdoll,’ I turned into a doll, fell to the floor limp, and just lay there. The screams intensified. Surely, she could blast me into candy compliance! No? Maybe she could just tug on Dad’s arm, a bit? No? What is he doing laying there?

She was confused. Then, the most amazing thing happened. Her face brightened, and she dropped to the floor beside me. She became a ragdoll herself, and just wanted to cuddle. Yet again, the “reset” had worked. And the silliness had rescued an intolerable situation.

These are just examples. Honestly, it’s not hard. When you feel like you’re headed the wrong way, just do the opposite. Laying down on the ground wasn’t just to mix it up, it honestly felt great. I was tired. I wanted to lie down anyway. Parenting is exhausting work, after all. And swerving the car, or driving through imaginary jungles might not be the first thing that comes to mind, but it sure as heck beats driving deeper into the doldrums.

I’m not a perfect parent. I’m not sure there is such a thing. And I get down, just like anyone. But by using resets and silliness, I’m able to turn my days and my kids’ days around.

That’s something I’m proud of, and encourage all parents to try. 

Photo: © Mat Hayward / Adobe Stock.

Every child is a delight, a joy, a perfect diamond. They are perfect in every way from the moment of their birth until the moment they leave the nest, and even after.

Except when they’re not.

A few months ago, I sat in the car line waiting to pick up my 5-year-old son from kindergarten. My phone buzzed with a message from his teacher. And then another. And another.

My son had thrown blocks at a student. When confronted by the teacher, he yelled at her. Eventually, it escalated all the way into him punching one of the other students.

There are many messages parents dread. Our children’s safety is always the chief fear. School shootings are an unfortunate constant in American life. We worry that someone might bully our child. Had I received that call, that message would’ve been far easier for me to digest than this one. After all, I’d been bullied through much of school, and my son is like me, right?

I read the messages again. My son wasn’t bullied. He was the bully.

A sense of emptiness settled into my stomach. Not pure anger or sadness, but something between the two, coupled with a deep, deep sense of disappointment. 

The first D-word I had feared as a parent. Yes, I admit I felt disappointed.

And the only way to deal with it was the second D-word, one I’ve always struggled with: discipline.

All kids need discipline, of course. They need to be taught the rules and norms of society. They have to function in school, and not throw blocks or hit. My wife and I don’t believe in spanking. There are plenty of studies that prove — despite what earlier generations have done — striking children does not modify their behavior. We also found minimal success with timeouts and other traditional forms of discipline.

What then? What could we do?

Nurtured Heart Approach changes his life

The incident mentioned wasn’t isolated. In fact, we started hearing from his teacher at least once a week. We had meetings with the principal. We began to suspect the root of his problem was boredom. My son would practice multiplication, division, and even simple exponents in the car, before hopping out to a class whose full-year math curriculum involved counting to a hundred. But knowing the cause didn’t excuse the behavior. Again, that disappointment sank in. My son is brilliant, kind and such a wonderful person. How could we encourage him to choose kindness and compassion? How could we discipline him and avoid disappointment?

My aunt introduced us to “The Nurtured Heart Approach,” a radically different method of behavior modification. Developed by Howard Glasser, and codified in the book Transforming the Difficult Child, the Nurtured Heart Approach relies on three “stands.” The first stand is to not give any energy at all to negative behavior. Timeouts and other discipline often fail to truly transform highly energetic kids because they thrive on negative attention. The second stand awards TONS of positive energy to good behavior. This, even more than the first stand, was transformational for us.

I started noticing interactions between my son and daughter. They’d be happy and content until one would start to bug the other. At that moment, I’d intervene, throwing my energy into trying to resolve the conflict. Nurtured Heart Approach reversed this approach. I started praising the good interactions between my kids and joining them more thoroughly while they were content.

Then, when something went amiss, all I needed was the third stand: the “reset.”

At its heart, the reset is essentially a five-second timeout. It’s a pause where the energy is redirected. Think of Daniel Tiger’s song “Give a squeeze, nice and slow, take a deep breath … and let it go …” Same idea. Tell the kid who’s breaking a rule to reset, and pull all your attention away. That’s it. If they don’t reset, say it again. Might take a hundred resets, but that’s it — no punishments, no lectures about what they did wrong (dumping energy into the behavior you’re modifying). Instead, send energy back into what they’re doing right as soon as they start acting right again.

The above description of Nurtured Heart Approach is a boiled-down oversimplification, of course. It’s worth checking out the book, but be warned — it’s not easy. Not at all. Yet now, months later, the notes we get from the teacher are filled with praise for his behavior. The way he acts with his sister makes me smile.

We still have rough moments. These are the times when he needs to reset. And then we move forward. Because our son has learned that empathy and kindness and compassion are far more important to life than rule-breaking or aggression.

It’s OK, as a parent, to feel those moments of disappointment. It’s OK to recognize that discipline is part of parenting. Let that emotion sink into you and allow yourself to reset your own expectations.

Remember, your kid is still a delight, a joy, a perfect diamond. They are perfect in every way from the moment of their birth until the moment they leave the nest, and even after.

Because even diamonds need polishing. And that’s what parents are for.

Nurtured Heart Approach photo: © natali_mis /  Adobe Stock.

I fully expected attitude from my son when I opened his bedroom door. After all, the night before was rough. It was one of those nights you hear about from friends who are parents, and read about in the thousands of articles available online.

The classic 3-year-old toddler tantrum meltdown.

Screaming.

Yelling.

Throwing.

No. No! NO!!

Nothing I tried worked. It wasn’t the first time it happened. It certainly won’t be the last. On this night, however, it all came to a head for me. My patience was running thin. I lost my cool, yelled at Emory, and sent him straight to bed.

No bedtime story. No song. No brushing teeth. No nothing. I’d had enough.

In the immediate aftermath, I can’t describe how small I felt. For as much as my son was going through it with his meltdown, when he heard the bass in my voice, his eyes lit up. And when I was walking out of his room and he realized there would be no story, there was dejection and sadness all over his face. Not only did he know he’d messed up, but he also was well aware Daddy was upset and had lost it.

I went back in the room a few minutes later to give him a hug and apologize, but the damage for this particular night had been done.

How could I let this little person get to me like this? How could I not practice what I preach to him?

Grace in a child’s unconditional love

Sure, recently things had been rough with work and life and trying to balance all of the above along with a 2 month old. However, even with that stress, I didn’t have a pass to lose my cool in that moment with my son. It happens, though.

Being a dad is rough. There will be times where it gets hard. There will be times when you want to yell like I did. It’s a normal feeling that all parents will experience with their children. This was yet another lesson I learned in this journey through fatherhood.

I also learned that one of the beautiful things about being a dad is how forgiving our kids can be. When I opened Emory’s bedroom door the next morning, it was as if nothing happened. He jumped out of bed with a smile and a big hug. Silly me for thinking that he’d still be dwelling on what happened the night before. It’s a characteristic we adults could learn from.

Kids give us a grace that we don’t often deserve. In a moment of frustration for me, my son gave me some grace that I know wasn’t warranted. As a dad, I’m learning just as much, if not more, from him as I hope he’s learning from me.

During this “threenager” stage where tantrums are common, I’m trying to teach him ways to manage his anger in a healthy way. At this age, I’m well aware that he doesn’t really understand it. I just hope some of the methods will stick with him as he gets older.

Meanwhile, I’m glad he already knows how to give his old man a break when I make a mistake.

Photo: © LIGHTFIELD STUDIOS / Adobe Stock.

By the time I settled into my seat, my flight had already been delayed twice. I took a deep breath, trying hard not to notice that if my flight had left on time, I’d be home hugging my kids by now.

It’s OK. I had an awesome two-day getaway with some fellow dads. This was the price: four flights in 48 hours. I was at peak exhaustion now, peak frustration. Maybe even peak hangover.

Then I saw the crew who would be sitting behind me.

As a father of three, I’m sympathetic to the perils of those traveling with young kids, especially on a plane. My wife and I took three children from Cincinnati to Honolulu, after all. A long day of air travel with kids is a grind. People aren’t always nice, and kids, well, they’re kids. That is why when a family with two kids, roughly 4 and 6 years of age, occupied the seats behind me, I didn’t really think too much of it. I had seen this group in the terminal, and they all seemed perfectly reasonable.

Yeah … about that.

Humans aren’t really meant to jam themselves shoulder to shoulder in a thin, metal tube and be hurtled through the atmosphere via flame and thrust. Adults accept this as part of modern life. Kids aren’t so enlightened. Therefore, they intuitively know, deep down in their DNA, when the door of a plane closes, it’s time to freak the hell out.

Getting their kicks

First, I began to feel a lot of pressure in my lower back. I tried to convince myself I was in an experimental massage chair, but the 6-year-old girl behind me was just kicking my seat. It was firm. Inconsistent. Sometimes violent.

I patiently waited for one of the adults to ask her to stop. Surely these reasonable parents would notice the constant pounding on the back of my seat, and surely (don’t call me Shirley!) they are the type of reasonable parents who don’t want their kids annoying passengers on a full flight. I mean, that’s what you’d do, right? Right!?

Yeah … about that.

Even after I made eye contact with the dad, the kicking continued. My eyes clearly but silently said, “Hey man, I get it. This sucks. I’ve been there, and I feel your frustration, but could you please ask your kid to stop kicking my seat?” OK — an objective reading of my mask-covered face would probably read more like, “If your kid keeps kicking my seat, we may need an air marshal. Or a parachute. Possibly both.”

With the comedy of Bill Burr in my headphones, I decided to let his voice take me away from the constant pounding on my lower back. I turned the volume of the Netflix comedy special up to drown out the bickering and screaming.

What I really couldn’t handle, though — the silence of the parents. I accept that kids can be a handful, but permissive parents set my blood to boil. The only thing keeping me from letting these two know how I felt about their parenting style was the awareness of being trapped on a plane in a time of great tension and unruly plane passengers. As much as I think my handsome face deserves 15 minutes of fame, I really didn’t want it to be via a mugshot after being forcibly removed from an airplane. All I could think about was Ben Stiller finally cracking in Meet The Parents, and shouting, “Bomb, bomb, bombity bomb bomb!”

When the plane landed, things got really serious

The 4-year-old boy got physical. He thrashed and kicked. He reached up to hit the flight attendant call button. Sometimes he was in the aisle next to me, his head and legs crashing into me and other passengers. Again, the parents did not intervene.

He started screaming and yelling, pushing against the immovable line of people in front, spinning around and bashing his backpack against everyone and everything. At this point, the parents finally tried to stop him. His resistance increased.

Deplaning flight a real pain in the …

The dad asked the mom to control the kid, and the mom calmly explained that if she physically restrained him, things would get worse. She was right, of course, but we had all had it by then. There was no sympathy to be found. After this kid shoved his head straight up my ass, pushing me forward while providing a complimentary rectal exam, I finally let out, “C’mon!? Geeez!”

Yeah, I know. Not much of an outburst in the grand scheme of things. But the defeated look in the eyes of his parents immediately made me regret my outburst.

Eventually, we cleared out. And, naturally, I found myself right next to the dad on the tram connecting the gates to the terminal. We made eye contact, but he looked away. At this point, in empathy, I should’ve apologized. I should’ve offered words of encouragement to my fellow dad.

Yeah … about that.

I didn’t say anything. That I regret. I should have said, “Well, that was fun, but it’s over now.” Anything. Just some words to diffuse the tension. Just some words to make him feel like he wasn’t a failure, that we all didn’t hate him, and that other parents felt empathy and not judgment. Instead, I stood there, silently, with angry, judgmental eyes.

This man didn’t curse at his kids. He didn’t raise his hand with a threat of violence. No “I’ll beat your ass when you get home.” Isn’t that a victory that should be celebrated?

In a world of anger and violence, these parents did their best to keep their kids as calm as possible. Sure, I was annoyed, and I didn’t agree with their methods, but who am I to decide for another dad how he should treat his kids? If I’m honest, my kids are great most of the time, but every now and then they are soul-crushing monsters who listen to nothing but the wild adolescent voices in their heads. In those moments I encourage you to offer empathy, kindness, grace. Maybe even a beer. Remind your fellow dads, fellow parents and fellow humans that we really are in this together. And maybe, just maybe we’ll change the world.

And maybe, just maybe, next time I’ll climb over my seat and start kicking that little girl’s seat until she learns a valuable lesson.

Just kidding. But keep a lookout for my mug shot — just in case.

Flight photo: © Konstantin Yuganov /  Adobe Stock.

Somehow, I ended up arguing with my oldest child about doughnut holes. Again.

My three kids and I were driving to my mom’s house late on a Sunday morning. As is tradition during our hour-long drive, we swung into the drive-thru to pick up coffee for me and a treat for the kids to share. After collecting the bounty, I always pass the cup of doughnut holes to the kids in the back seat and they fight like a pack of agitated badgers over whose turn it is to hold the cup and dole out the contents. Holder of the cup is the highest of honors, so a fair amount of squabbling and thrashing is to be expected. It’s tradition.

Shortly after we pulled back onto the road, my oldest, who was seated between his two younger siblings, let out a wail. I assumed it was fallout from the cup holder death match, but I was wrong. It was something much worse.

The kids had determined it was my oldest son’s turn to be in charge of meting out the chocolate glazed, and he had dropped them onto the floorboard. I took a quick glance back to see a handful of delicious spheres trundling around on the dirty, fuzzy floor.

In the midst of his crying, I asked my oldest child why he had dropped the cup. I didn’t ask this dumb question because I was upset. I asked because I was still peeved at him for taking what seemed like hours to get into the car before we left the house, and I wanted to be snarky.

Of course, this only made things worse. A full-on meltdown commenced.

Now, I’m typically pretty good at staying calm and cool in such situations. Or at least as calm and cool as can reasonably be expected for someone who is isn’t a Zen master or Billie Eilish. I turned the music up a few notches, focused on the road, and mentally prepared to ride it out.

However, the ruckus didn’t stop. In fact, it kept getting worse. Until finally, I snapped.

I raised my voice more than I normally do — I have a particular aversion to raised voices, so I try to avoid raising mine whenever possible — and told my son to calm down or we were going home. I then flipped my turn signal on dramatically, because there is nothing quite like slamming on a turn signal to show someone who’s boss, and turned onto a side street at the next stoplight.

Best parenting moments, worst ones part of same fabric

Not surprisingly, things got even louder and more screechy at this point. I kept trying to pontificate over my child’s protestations, but nothing was getting through.

And then my younger son’s voice cut right through the noise.

“Daddy, he just needs a few minutes to calm down,” he said. “He needs to breathe, and he’ll be OK.”

The noise level in the car dropped dramatically, my older son started to catch his breath, and I wallowed in a pool of shame and misery.

I remember an old song called “Nice Guys Finish Last” was playing over the car sound system as we turned back onto the main road toward my mom’s house. I was definitely finishing last in that moment, but I did not at all feel like a nice guy.

After a few minutes of driving in relative quiet, things returned to normal. My oldest son relented and ate the final two doughnut holes that had remained in the cup during The Great Doughnut Hole Spill of 2020.

I reached back and patted his leg and apologized for getting upset. I reminded him that while he didn’t react the right way, I certainly didn’t either. And that we all get upset sometimes; we just have to do our best to learn how to handle it.

He grabbed my arm and leaned forward to press his wet face to the back of my hand.

As I reflected on the incident later, I thought back to what my younger son said to bring us out of our collective tailspin.

“Daddy, he just needs a few minutes to calm down. He needs to breathe, and he’ll be OK.”

It sounded very familiar because I have heard myself say almost those exact words more times than I can count in the last half decade. I guess they have been listening!

Which just goes to show, when it comes to parenting, there are good days and bad days and great moments and terrible ones. There are times when you react just the right way to whatever your child throws at you (literally or figuratively). There are days when you go on family bike rides and eat healthy foods. And then there are days when you turn on the screens, hole up inside, eat ice cream for breakfast, and try to stay out of each other’s way.

We are not defined by our worst parenting moments any more than we are defined by our best. Best and worst are threads in the same tapestry. They weave together and cross over in intricate and unexpected ways to create one whole that is all the more beautiful because of its imperfections.

In those difficult times — the tantrums, the heated exchanges of cross words, the mistakes we know we’re making even in the moment — it’s important to remember that the distance from your worst parenting moment to your best isn’t as far as it seems.

What you really need to do is find a few minutes to calm down. And breathe. And try to never, ever get into an argument with your child about doughnut holes.

Photo: © Konstantin Yuganov / Adobe Stock.