Our Children Belong In The World

Last week, my family went to our local CVS for our annual flu shots.

One of my kids was uncharacteristically having a hard time. She was scared and refusing. The pharmacist would prepare her arm, she’d say she was ready, and then the tears would come. We repeated this cycle for about 10 minutes.

In the midst of one of these attempts, an older man, probably about 75, popped his head into the vaccination room, stared at the pharmacist, and tapped his watch.

“You know you have a whole room of people waiting out here. I was in practice for 43 years. You’re all wasting your time and mine with this.”

Are you kidding me, sir?!

Parents, we’ve all been there. Out in public, our kids being kids, and the world sending the message:

You don’t belong here.

The mom with a baby who feels she has to hide in a bathroom to nurse.

The parents who dread traveling with their toddler because they anticipate the eye rolls and complaints when they board a plane.

The parents who hand their child a screen at a restaurant, not because they want to, but because they’re afraid their child might otherwise be too loud, too restless, or too messy.

The parents who snap at and scold their middle schooler for being too loud at the store.

The parents who hesitate to let their teenager attend a drop-off movie because they worry their kids will bother other moviegoers.

Different situations, but a common underlying message: 

Children are an inconvenience. Public spaces are for adults, or for children who can already behave like adults.

We have created a culture in which parents are expected to bring children into public life while making the realities of childhood as invisible as possible. And when children inevitably act like children, the adults around them sometimes make sure they know it.

This isn't the experience everywhere. Having traveled with and without my children, I've been struck by how differently many other parts of the world integrate children into public life. Children are welcomed into restaurants with smiles, treats, and genuine excitement. Public parks invite them to explore, play, and get messy. Playgrounds appear in places you might never expect—even at the top of hiking mountains.

These aren't just nice amenities. They send a message:

You belong here, too.

And that message changes the experience of being a child, and of raising one.

But here’s the thing. There are people right here who send that message too.

You know who didn't shame my daughter or me during that appointment?

The pharmacist. He was incredible. He moved between words of encouragement and quiet patience, normalized her fears, and shared that he'd had similar experiences as a child. When the man interrupted us, the pharmacist essentially ignored him and reassured us that we could take our time.

And eventually, we did it. My daughter got her flu shot.

As we left I had plenty I wanted to say to that man. I wanted to tell him what I thought of his behavior and the message he'd sent to my daughter. I also had a few thoughts about how vaccinations help protect people like him.

Instead I made sure my kids knew they had done nothing wrong. His behavior reflected his own sense of entitlement, not anything about them.

What stayed with me most though, was my gratitude for the pharmacist and my pride in my daughter for working through something that genuinely scared her. I leaned into those feelings. We talked about the pharmacist's kindness and my daughter's resilience, acknowledged the unkindness, and moved on.

Reflecting on that experience I kept thinking about the contrast between these two men. They were in the same place, witnessing the same situation, but communicated two entirely different messages about what it means to be a child in public.

We can't always choose how others treat us, but we have some choice in what we take away from those interactions—and what we pass on to our children.

I could have stayed caught up in my anger, replayed the encounter, and spent the rest of the day talking about how horrible that man was and how badly he'd made us feel. My anger would have been understandable. But I didn't want his message to take up more space in our day than it deserved.

Instead I wanted my children to see that, in the same world where some people are impatient with childhood, others make room for it. That we can recognize unkindness without assuming it represents how everyone sees us. And that we can choose to be the people who make others feel welcome.

So parents, as you move through the world remember:

For every person who rolls their eyes when you nurse in public, there are people who want to check whether you're comfortable or need anything.

For every person who complains about your toddler on an airplane, there are people willing to help entertain your little one, hold a bag, or make your journey a little easier.

For every person who gives you a side-eye when your children get up to move around at a restaurant, there are people who are glad you brought them along and are including them in public life.

For every person who stares down your middle schooler for talking loudly at the store, there are people who love hearing them share their ideas and voices.

And for every person who sees a group of teenagers gathering in public and assumes the worst, there are people who remember what it felt like to be young, recognize the importance of having space to grow into independence, and are happy to share the world with them.

The unkindest voices are not the only voices, and they are not necessarily the majority.

There are people who want your family, your children, and all the noise, feelings, movement, and mess that come with them to be part of the world. 

We need to notice those people too.

Not because we should pretend unkindness doesn't hurt or teach our children to accept poor treatment. But because our children are learning from us how to interpret the world around them. Whether they belong, whether their feelings are welcome, and whether other people's disapproval means they've done something wrong.

We can't protect our children from every eye roll, impatient stranger, or unkind comment. But we can help them understand that one person's reaction is not a verdict on who they are or whether they belong.

But we can notice the people who make room for us, teach our children to appreciate kindness and recognize unkindness, and offer others the same welcome we hope to receive.

And we can choose to let that message win.

Our children deserve to grow up knowing that the world is theirs to participate in—not only when they're quiet, agreeable, tidy, and easy, but also when they're scared, exuberant, restless, learning, and growing.

Parents, you deserve to live in a world where you feel seen, valued and welcome.

They belong in public. They belong in the world.

Let's make sure everyone knows it.

Until Next Time,

Allie