The entire event took place about three years ago, as our oldest wasn’t in kindergarten yet. It was later in August, in the afternoon heat when we were making the trek home from our neighborhood park. Jamin was out of town on a youth trip in the middle of one of his usual summer ministry marathons, so I decided to brave it despite the hellish, fry-an-egg-on-pavement temps. All in a last ditch effort to save my cooped-up-with-three-kids sanity. All three in tow, the oldest on a bike with training wheels and the younger toddlers in the wagon, we were headed back to the land of air conditioning.
It was time to cross the street.
I hate crossing the street with three little ones in tow. Especially our street.
Because a. there’s lots of bumps to try to maneuver multi-wheeled objects quickly over without high risk of child spillage, and b. it doesn’t really look like people would drive fast in our quiet neighborhood, but we’ve decided most of the general population must be missing the brain cells that tell them to act rationally. {Thus the national epidemic of texting while driving. Thus my totally rational fears of the impending zombie apocalypse.}
Which basically results in us shamelessly stepping in front of cars and yelling at asking them to slow down. People just don’t pay attention, and my kids should be able to ride their bikes without worrying about reckless drivers on their own street. Citizens arrest, y’all. I’m basically one step away from buying a blue flashing light for our car. Yep. I’m that person.
So we were crossing the street to get back when I was ushering all three across, like some ill-fated cross guard when I saw it coming. The street was vehicle-less when I’d started our risky little journey, with plenty of room for reaction time, and I was halfway into the middle of the street.
Let’s hit the pause button on my story, shall we? Anyone who has small children knows what I was dealing with. Walking with a child, let alone more than one in solitary mode is the equivalent to walking into the waves on the beach. At the beginning of a tropical depression. With a watermelon on top of a float. Add one watermelon and float for each child. Now try not to lose any of them! Good luck.
I had one hand on the bicycle pushing those training wheels, another pulling that wagon as fast as I could manage.
Do the hustle.
It was then that I spotted a large form on a motorcycle, rounding the corner and headed straight for us. He was still a good distance back, and I was moving all three children as quickly as I could, as at that moment, I felt a bit like Frogger. I could turn back, but that would mean pulling against my building momentum and perhaps crashing the oldest on training wheels, worsening the situation. So push it was.
There was plenty of space to slow down, plenty of time to make allowances for us as I struggled to get all three quickly across. But for some reason, no allowances were made. In fact, he sped up. To the point where I pushed and pulled all three out of the way into the next lane, just in time for him to gun it, right past us.
Don’t mess with mama bear.
Because I did the react-without-thinking thing, and totally acted like I was throwing something at him. To the point where he actually flinched. It was like this slow mo horror fest of awkward moments, while I screamed for him to slow down just as he careened by within a foot of my face.
Maybe it wasn’t one of my finer moments, but I felt absolutely no shame whatsoever. My children had been put at risk, and they are the most important thing to me. Bottom line. Therefore, I will do anything necessary to protect them. Even if that means throwing imaginary things. And acting a fool in the middle of the street. It’s like a basic mom equation for reactionary appropriateness, and I’m officially over explaining because we almost died.
No, I don’t have a flair for the dramatic. Why do you ask?
The driver kept going, and I made my way, shaking, with said precious cargo in tow, back to the sidewalk on the other side of the street. We walked for a short distance when I heard the roar of a motorcycle behind us. But the problem was, the sound was growing louder.
He was coming back.
There I was, in the middle of broad daylight on our sidewalk, with three children in tow, and nowhere to hide. Because the totally paranoid side of me was saying hide. Hide now. This man was mad, and he was coming back for us. We were about to be some kind of headline for CNN news via road rage, and I needed to not die today. Let alone have some sort of scary altercation in front of my small children.
I kid you not, I had 911 pulled up on my phone when the motorcycle stopped directly behind me. Not like 911 could actually save me in that moment, but I figured I wasn’t going down without a fight, and in that moment 911 counted. Especially when the future episodes of Nancy Grace played it over and over again on her crime show.
I flinched a little, and then turned around to face him. Was he going to pull out a weapon to teach me a lesson? Were my children about to be witness to something truly awful?
I was afraid. I’d acted all big and bad on the street and now I just wanted to pull out an invisibility cloak and vanish.
The driver was indeed a bulky man, strong, and twice… maybe even three times my size. He flipped up his tinted visor and looked me right in the eye. I held my breath.
“I’m sorry.” He said. His eyes were genuine and in his voice, he meant it.
Shame on me for making assumptions.
Shame on me for judging.
I took a deep breath and staggered forward. “It’s okay! People just drive way too fast and it scares me!” I responded.
“I’m really sorry, ” he said.
“Thank you.”
And with that, he turned around and left. My children were shown that day, an amazing example of an apology, pure and simple… from a complete stranger. Alongside the fact that their mother screamed at him, but let’s not keep score here.
No excuses. No reasonings attached. Just “I’m sorry.” The simple apology.
There was something about the genuineness of his apology. The simplicity of it. And then it struck me, how often do I blow it with my own apologies? How often do I ruin it with excuses and over explanations?
He could have added, “I was late” or “I’m having a really bad day” He could have even said the mafia was chasing him at the speed he was going, and I would have believed it. But there was something about his simple repentance and asking for forgiveness from a total stranger who freaked out on him on the street, that struck me to the core. He didn’t have to turn around and make an effort. But he chose to, and that meant a lot to me, the total screaming stranger.
There are probably 1 kabillion books written on the subject, from every angle possible. We all have our memories of ill-made apologies, and ill received ones, too. Of bad feelings that go with them and memories that affect us still to this day. We have our own regrets. It can shape how we apologize. It’s about making things right with people. Letting go of grudges and forgiving others. Even about the hardest one: Accepting the apology you may never receive. {It’s a freeing thing, forgiveness. I’m working hard on that one, too.} The topic is a never-ending one.
But here’s a simple take on doing it right:
Instead of: “I’m sorry you’re upset.”
“I’m sorry, but I was really frustrated.”
“I’m sorry but I just can’t even deal with this right now and I’m completely stressed and I just reacted that way…” — that one is sooooo me.
How about asking for forgiveness, and doing it right? How about not ruining it with excuses and passive statements that in a round about way, are a weak attempt to take the blame and heat off of ourselves? Because whether we mean to or not, it comes across that way.
In a culture that’s riddled with pride and ego and the ability for that to steer our decisions, it can be easy to forget the true art of humility and displaying it for others that need to hear it from us.
Sometimes, less is more. Especially, no, only when it’s genuine.
And there’s power in that.
And an entirely different post: a genuine forgiveness, and letting it go, following the genuine apology. But that’s another post for another day.
I certainly struggle with simple apologies, and that {formerly} intimidating man was a lesson to me that day. I’ll never forget it. That’s all anyone needs, really. A true attitude of sorry. And simple words that reflect it.
A genuine “I’m Sorry.”
That’s all it takes.
April says
Loved this post and that is my favorite quote from Maya. Glad he came back to apologize. It takes a real grown-up person to do something like that.
ashley @ the handmade home says
It’s one of my faves, too. ;}
Marybeth says
I love this story! I couldn’t agree more about just the words “I’m sorry” and no other excuses. And, I also have been the mom screaming at someone to slow down on her street. My husband does it, too. I also may have done that thing (this morning on the way to work) where the person behind you is riding your bumper so you slow WAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY down just to show them who’s boss. Super mature, I know.
ashley @ the handmade home says
HA! Jamin got physical once, and actually threw the glow bracelets he was holding at the driver who decided to go about 45 down our 25 mph street on the 4th of july. He’s a pretty laid back guy so that was kind of a biggie for him. They may or may not have gone through his open window {whoops}. Said driver may or may not have cussed us out. That may or may not have happened. Our kids were shooting off fireworks and playing on the sidewalk and he just zoomed past. People just don’t know how to be careful, and that’s how children are killed. It’s a subject matter we are very passionate about. It only takes seconds to ruin lives forever.
Jess Lundgren says
This…this is perfect…..just perfect!
Vicki says
That is an awesome story! I would definitely have done what you did when I used to drag my 3 boys ( 18 mos apart) around but what a great lesson from the angry driver. Thanks for posting this. It is something that I needed to see today. I am often guilty of apologizing with excuses when a simple ” I’m sorry” is all that is required. As I have said before, you are one great mom!
ashley @ the handmade home says
Oh my goodness you are so sweet Vicki. I fall short daily. ;}
Linda @ Itsy Bits And Pieces says
This is a powerful post. The tone of the apology is important, too…how many times has someone said “Sorry”, but with an inflection that tells you it isn’t genuine…
Thanks so much for sharing…I learned something today.
Avey says
I love this reminder! Thank you for expressing it so eloquently. I needed to read this today.
Karen J says
Wow, so simple, yet so powerful. Thank you. And thanks for keeping those precious babies safe. You are awesome.
Mindy says
What a guy to actually take the time to come back. Yes, he did wrong (and I am with you on the flashing blue lights when there is children or elderly involved), no excuses. A genuine, I’m sorry. Yes.
britney says
I love your posts, your decorating, your home, but this has to be my all time favorite! Thanks!
Jennifer says
I was feelin’ ya throughout this whole story. We put out cones on our street for the kids and I swear people are still clueless and drive like bats outta you know…
Then the twist, with the apology. So awesome. So simple. So beautiful. I’ve been the crazy overprotective Mom and I’ve also been a ‘clueless jerk’ (who isn’t really a jerk). What a great lesson for us all, the power of a simple apology.
Cathy J says
Very well said, thank you!
Rose L. says
I am so glad he realized his error and did apologize. Often young people have no feeling of regard for others. I am always pleased when shown consideration and respect. Being a senior citizen, it is very much appreciated when someone holds a door open for me, or doesn’t hon to hurry me across a parking lot while walking (I have bad knees), or they ride on the tail of my car even thought I am going the speed limit…you get the idea. Maybe next time he will be reminded of the incident and stop!!
Kate says
I absolutely can not stand when someone says “I’m sorry you’re upset.” It sends me right over the moon and my response is always the same, “Don’t apologize for my feelings. I’m not sorry I’m feeling them.” In my head I’m always thinking “Apologize for your behavior not how I feel about your behavior.”
I would have yelled at the super fast motorcycle guy too. I shake my fist quite regularly at one of the teenagers on my street who thinks that if you aren’t gunning it, you aren’t going to get there.
ashley @ the handmade home says
Oh my word. I know, right? like telling me to calm down when I’m already mad. Because that makes it soooo much better. ;}
Kerri KC says
Loved this post. Totally needed to read it today! Thanks for sharing!
Kim says
This is perfect. Love this story. Now if only driver’s education classes would use this scenario when teens are learning to drive. They could learn several lessons – drive the correct speed, watch out for obstacles and slow down when you see one, and apologize.