Last week, KZ, my four year old daughter, and I were at our local drug
store, The Drug Mart. It is located in our building at the corner of
86th and York Avenue. It's a narrow, little drug store, established in
1959, when the building was first built. It's neatly kept but so narrow
that three people, at max, can stand side-by-side in it.
As
I was paying the cashier, a big older woman stormed in and proceeded to
knock KZ down. Then she stepped on KZ's hand. This woman was much
taller and wider than I ever hope to be. I wanted to knock her down and
step on her hand, but before I could get a word out, KZ took charge.
She screamed bloody murder while holding her injured hand. Then she
marched right up to that beast of a woman, who was by then yelling at
the pharmacist, and said,
"Hey, you knocked me down and stepped on my hand. That was not nice. Now say you're sorry!"
The woman just stood there. Everyone was quiet.
"I'm sorry," the woman quietly said.
She immediately began walking towards the door.
"Your daughter has a beautiful dress," she said to me as she left the store.
"Some people are evil. We need to stay away from them," I yelled to KZ while the woman was still within ear shot.
Did
I still want to knock this woman down and step on her hand? Yes. But,
I was more proud of my four and a half year old daughter than anything
else. She showed courage, self-confidence, and self-control -- more
than I had at the moment. The clerk apologised.
"That
woman is mean to everyone, especially children. I wish we could tell
her never to come back, but the owner won't let us. Would your daughter
like a lollipop?"
"Lollipop?" KZ said.
That
was all she needed to be dancing in the aisle. She might have felt all
better with her lolly, but it took me longer to get over it.
The story did remind me of one time when I was about ten years old.
My
mom had the self-confidence and courage of a scared little bird.
Somehow, she had purchased a spoiled chicken at the supermarket.
Everyone told her to take it back, but she was afraid. Because money
was tight and she really couldn't afford to waste it, she mustard the
courage. She and I went back to the store, with the spoiled chicken and
receipt in hand. The butcher gave her trouble. He called her a liar.
That was it. I jumped up on the meat counter and looked him dead in
the eye.
"Nobody calls my mommy a liar. Now get her a fresh chicken!"
Again, silence filled the store. Without a word, he got her a fresh chicken.
