KINSHIP SNACKS: How To Apologize to a Child

Plus: New Baby Bill of Rights overwhelm; COVID is still a thing; don’t get mixed up with toddlers; everybody’s lonely but no one can hang out; how good it feels to be asked; a hint of tomato.

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How to Apologize to a Child

I have a powerful memory from childhood of being apologized to by my mother. It was so long ago and I was so young (maybe 6 or 7) that the details are nearly gone – but the emotional resonance remains warm, bright, and clear. My brother and I had had some kind of conflict in the car, and our mother became uncharacteristically irritated and snapped at us. I know there was something unjust about my having been scolded: I didn’t start it? I didn’t do it? Our mom was usually very fair, and I felt hurt and angry. Later, she found me and apologized. And what I remember, vividly, to this day, is that her apology made me feel completely understood, and completely cared-for.

Peering back through the lens of what I now know about child development, I suspect this incident made such an impression on me both because I began to recognize my mother as separate from myself (someone potentially unpredictable and unknowable) AND to understand that I could rely on her completely, that she would never abandon or betray me. It was a tiny little drama – an insignificant squabble between siblings, a brief interaction between mother and child – but also, it was everything.

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to pay my mother’s wisdom forward when I unfairly accused a kid in my own life. Again, it was a petty squabble between young siblings. They faced off at the bottom of the stairs, fighting over a necklace. I wasn’t sure what had happened but these two had been fighting a lot lately and now they were quickly escalating toward violence. I swooped down between them, confiscated the necklace, and scolded them both. I remember the older child turning to me in outrage, quivering with perceived unfairness. “You’re a… a stupidhead!” she yelled at me, then ran up the stairs into her room and slammed the door. Her little sister looked smug.

Emmanuel Phélippes-Beaulieu (1862). The Shed with Children Fighting. National Gallery of Art.

I questioned the younger kid and thought back over what I’d actually witnessed. It became apparent that the younger sibling had been purposely antagonizing the older, trying to steal the necklace, and not responding to repeated requests to stop.

So it seemed I’d made a mistake. To be fair to myself, adults can’t possibly track every intimate interpersonal drama between the kids we’re caring for. We often have to make our best judgment based on limited information, and we need to do so rapidly to prevent anyone from getting hurt. I wasn’t upset with myself for how I’d handled things – I’d done the best I could with the knowledge available to me – but I remembered my mother’s apology to me when I was a child. I needed to make things right.

I went upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door.

“Go away! I hate you!”

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