Iced Tears

It couldn’t have been the most exciting trip to the mall for an eight-year-old boy.

We were there to help Dave’s sister and our future brother-in-law select their wedding invitations. Max was very patient. He drew pictures with Dave. And he and Ari took up residence underneath the table and played their Game Boys side by side.

When we finished, the four of us headed to a restaurant in the mall. And although it was now about 7 o’clock and we had a twenty-minute wait, Max took a seat on the floor and quietly waited. Once at our table, he and Ari colored on their children’s menus and placed their own orders with the waitress.

As I sipped my iced tea and looked at this well-mannered, patient boy, I had to fight back tears.

They weren’t tears of pride as one might consider. I was crying—rather, trying not to cry--for all those days when Max was none of the things he was today. When you live with a child who has behavioral issues that include hitting, talking back and just an overall obnoxious attitude, you come to understand what you’re in for. You certainly don’t like it. But you learn how to best manage it and you accept it…well, as much as one can without throttling said child.

But today, when Max was so perfectly behaved the woman at the stationary store remarked how well mannered and patient he and Ari were, you cry. You cry that there aren’t more days like today where your family can go to a restaurant and not worry that your son will freak out because he has to wait. You cry for all those difficult days. You cry that today, as nice as it has been, may not happen again for a while.

This outing was a reminder of how things could be. And how they aren’t. And probably never will.