Scroll down to read Part 1, if you haven't yet read that, or this won't make much sense. A reminder: The incident I describe took place while we were vacationing, in 2000.
We were enjoying our lunch at a salad-bar restaurant in Florida, when a family came in. They included a mom and dad, three or four children ranging in age from about four years to about fourteen, and an older couple. I could hear Mom fussing as the family entered, and she continued to fuss as she directed the children to a table. That happens in families. She walked away, but when she returned to the table, she picked up where she had left off; this time, her target was clear: she was chewing out the oldest child, a boy (for easier reading, I will call him "Danny"). I tried to block out her voice and focus on my salad.
But she raised her voice. I looked up: Mom was standing behind an empty chair, leaning over the back of it, one hand on the table in front of her. She spat words at Danny, her lips tight, teeth clenched, and jaw stiff, as she jabbed the air in front of his face.
Please understand: I am a teacher. I have taught at the middle- and high-school levels, and currently teach in a community college. I know how frustrating even the best of teenagers can be; I have encountered their defiance, their challenges to any adult who dares to exert authority over them. I know the facial expressions, the rolled eyes, the curled lips. I've heard their tones of unearned superiority. I wondered what on earth this boy had done to make his mother so angry.
But something was wrong. Something did not fit. I looked carefully at Danny's face, in his eyes, at his posture, as Mom continued her harangue. What I did not see surprised me. I saw no defiance, no contempt, no challenge. His wide eyes did not roll, nor did his lip curl. On the contrary, he pressed his body and head against the wall behind him as hard as he could, keeping his eyes on that finger that threatened his face. His expression broadcast pure fear: "Oh, God, no...please...not again, not here!" Patently, Mom's behavior was not new.
As she continued to vent, I described to my husband (whose back was to the scene) what I was seeing. When she seemed to back off, I tried again to focus on my lunch, but Danny's expression stared at me from my lettuce. What had he done? I still wondered. I looked once more at his face, reaffirming for myself that this experience was all too familiar to him. His expression had taken on that wary, hyper-alert mode of children who live with unstable adults.
It got worse.
To be continued...
