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Although I’m not a mom, I often can’t help but to mother other people’s kids. By “kids” I mean young people. By “young people” I mean anyone whose time on the planet amounts to fewer than 21 years. And it is important that I state my relatively broad definition of “young people” because knowing this will come in handy when I tell you what occurred between me and a young person not too long ago.
I was at the cash register in a discount department store. My cashier was a handsome young man who could not have been older than 19 or 20. I thought he seemed friendly when I first walked up to the counter because he smiled in the undaunted way that cordial people do. I might’ve even thought something like, “Good for him, working part-time while going to college. Smart kid.” However, when the smart kid finished ringing me up, he threw me for a loop by saying something completely incomprehensible.
What he said wasn’t beyond comprehension, mind you. Nevertheless, the young man’s poor elocution made it impossible for me to understand a single word he said. It seemed that words, when in this young man’s vocal possession, were uniquely unintelligible utterances.
I kindly asked him three times to repeat himself and, each time, I didn’t latch onto one syllable. So finally, I said, “I’m sorry. I can’t understand you, young man.” Yes, I called him “young man.” And I didn’t stop there.
“Slow down,” I pleaded. “Here, let me help you. What’s the first part of what you want to say?”
Another kid would’ve rolled his eyes, sucked his teeth or shook his head and shooed me away. But this kid? He grinned, showing me the toothier version of his undaunted smile, and he actually played along with my mini elocution lesson. Together, we practiced his spiel twice, reciting three or four words at a time. I stood there playing vocal coach to this young man for two or three minutes though he was technically finished with my transaction, and there was a long line of customers waiting.
For all I know, that young man had to repeat the same spiel again after I left and most likely went back to his mumbling ways. Nevertheless, I thought about him recently as I read MadameNoire writer Opal Stacie’s story about who has the right to be a part of the village that raises a child. I wondered: Had I grossly overstepped my bounds with that young man, and with the countless other young strangers who were blindsided by my unsolicited guidance over the years?
I am somewhat of a zealot about kids articulating clearly, so the exchange with that young cashier was not the first of its kind. I’ve frequently reprimanded children with the line, “Talk so people can understand what you are saying.” I like to think that I have the kind of personality that can pull off these minor disciplinary interventions and do so somewhat gracefully.
But who am I to say what’s graceful and what’s not when it comes to steering someone else’s kid in the right direction (or what I believe is the right direction)? Sure, offering unsolicited guidance has yet to land me in a major kerfuffle with a kid. However, maybe it is just sheer luck that no one has slapped me in the face or told me to f**k off during one of my interventions.
Obviously, I know one or two basic rules for engagement when it came to other people’s kids (that one should not “put her hands on” them, for example). But how was I to know when I was crossing the line or when my attempts at helping young people might backfire?
To find out the answers to these questions, I sought out the counsel of a woman whom I greatly admire. Anne Williams-Isom is the CEO of Harlem Children’s Zone, one of the country’s leading academic institutions.
Now, I don’t know Williams-Isom, but I know her stellar reputation for encouraging excellence in kids. So I called her for advice, and I asked, “For us laypeople and civilians, what’s the protocol for speaking up about kids’ behavior that we deem unsatisfactory?” Williams-Isom’s answer: It depends.
“Tone and intention are everything,” she said. “If we’re doing it in a light, loving manner, with a desire to have a teachable moment and to nurture and to care for the young people, that is one thing. However, if we’re doing it out of a desire to correct or embarrass them, then that is not okay.”
As for what is okay to do or say, here are few things Williams-Isom believes we should keep in mind:
First, assess your ability to intervene. “You may have a desire to do or say something, but keep in mind there’s skill involved, too,” explained Williams-Isom. “You need to have an instinct for compassion and empathy.”
Remember it is about the kid, not about you. Your intervention should not aim to assail an adolescent stranger with your “I’m the adult here” bat. “If you’re just doing it to make yourself feel in charge of a situation, then that could turn into a fight,” said Williams-Isom. “I always say that adults can’t play tug of rope with kids because they just get into a back and forth. The older person needs to be the one to drop the rope, and the kid will fall back.”
Be calm. Be kind. Make eye contact. Which is not to say that you should stare young people down with your disappointed grimace or intimidating glare. “I look kids in the eye, then I smile and say, ‘Hi sweethearts. Be careful,’” she said. “My tone lets them know that I’m claiming them as my own, that I’m saying, ‘I see you,’ which is different than saying, ‘Y’all kids better stop!’”
Lastly, Williams-Isom has some words of caution for those of us who choose to interact boldly with other people’s children. “You don’t want to exacerbate a situation and put yourself in danger,” she explained.
The way I see it, I haven’t been in a dangerous (or even quasi- dangerous) situation yet. Not that I want to press my luck or anything, but maybe I have that “skill” and “instinct” for intervention that Williams-Isom was talking about. So, I’ve decided that I’ll keep on humbly assuming my very small role as part of the village that collectively raises its kids.
I can only hope that, when it comes to my interventionist ways, those kids will be as game and as patient as the young mumbler giving his spiel at the cash register.
