When my son, who is on the autism spectrum, was just four years old, he had an overwhelming meltdown on a street in Providence, Rhode Island, where we lived. I was unable to manage his distress as he screamed, darted into traffic, and hit and bit both himself and me in a state of panic. All I could do was sit on the curb, trying my best to keep him safe. His piercing cries soon drew a crowd, with onlookers casting disapproving glances and whispering about my inability to control my child.
No one approached me directly, except for an elderly man seated on a nearby restaurant terrace. He shouted that I should bring my son over for him to spank. I noticed a few bystanders pulling out their phones, an act which made me hope that someone would call my husband, who was just a few blocks away, to assist me. I had a shard of glass lodged in my knee, and one of my son’s tiny sandals had been kicked so far into the street that I couldn’t retrieve it while trying to keep him from hurting himself.
As I contemplated asking someone for help, I caught sight of a woman who had previously made critical remarks about my parenting. She was now glaring at me, phone in hand, poised to dial. In that moment, I understood that she was about to call the police. I went from being a distressed mother to a potential criminal in her eyes.
Fortunately, a friend of mine spotted me amidst the crowd and rushed over to help. My friend, who is white and carries the appearance of a respectable professional, seemed to diffuse the tension, and the crowd began to disperse.
Fast forward to a few years later, my son is now 11. During a recent visit to Whole Foods, an unexpected trigger set him off, resulting in him biting my hand so hard that my thumb swelled. He began kicking and screaming, so my husband and I carefully guided him toward our car. He bolted the last ten feet, leaped into the back seat, and slammed the door behind him. This space is his safe haven, and we opened the windows to let him calm down.
As the tantrum quickly subsided, we turned to unload our groceries, only to notice a police officer approaching us, with a line of curious shoppers watching from the entrance. “This lady called us,” he said, pointing to a middle-aged woman standing a few feet away. “I wouldn’t treat a dog the way you treat your child!” she yelled, her disdain evident.
My husband and I exchanged bewildered glances. Was she addressing us? What had we done wrong? I recalled that she had been munching on a sandwich in her van as we passed by, my husband and I doing our best to prevent our son from hurting himself. I had even given her an apologetic look while escorting my son to the car, unaware that she perceived our actions as abusive or even as kidnapping.
As the officer listened to us calmly, I explained, “He has autism, and we were just trying to help him feel safe.” He nodded, sharing that he had a nephew with autism who often displayed similar behaviors. After wishing us well, he walked away without asking for our names.
I felt compelled to confront our accuser. As I approached, she quickly retreated into her van, avoiding eye contact, and sped off. I sought out the store manager, who confirmed that he had seen us there before with my son, and this was not the first time he had a meltdown in the store. My husband and I would have handled the situation the same way, regardless of who was watching. Yet, I couldn’t shake the fear of what might happen if we were ever out of sight of those who knew us or if the officer didn’t have a personal connection to autism.
Recent events involving arrests of mothers for seemingly innocuous actions have led me to ponder the shifting landscape of parenting. At what point did the act of raising children become subject to scrutiny and regulation? Cases like Debra Harrell’s, who was jailed for allowing her daughter to play in a park, or Tanya McDowell, who was charged for using a babysitter’s address for her son’s school enrollment, highlight the increasing criminalization of motherhood.
In past decades, children were often left to entertain themselves, and parents faced little scrutiny for their choices. Today, however, similar situations are labeled as “neglect” or “endangerment,” regardless of the circumstances. The same judgment often doesn’t apply to affluent families who manipulate the system for their benefits, highlighting the disparities in societal reactions based on race and socioeconomic status.
The woman at Whole Foods exhibited an “I care about the children” facade that masked her true intentions. She didn’t know my son or our situation. If I had been arrested, my son would have been left alone, confused and in need of care. Thankfully, we were fortunate enough to encounter an understanding officer and to have the safety net of our community.
If you’re concerned about a situation involving a child, please approach with empathy and openness rather than resorting to immediate calls to authorities. It’s crucial to understand that what may seem alarming from a distance could simply be a child in distress, and a compassionate conversation can often resolve matters without escalating into a crisis.
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In summary, the evolving perceptions of parenting can lead to misunderstandings and unwarranted interventions. It’s essential to foster a culture of support rather than judgment, ensuring that children and parents can navigate challenging moments without fear of criminalization.