I’m sitting in a library across town, side by side laptop time with my hubby. We’re on a writing retreat, conquering things that need to get out of our heads and into the world, debating the value and the need of sharing our family’s fight for peace and a dynamic of joy rather than chaos. My eyes are full of tears.

My attention turned to the movement on my right as a mom and pre-teen son walked through the entry, arms laden with stacks of books. Picture books. A Duke Ellington picture book poked out of the stack. Chapter books of various sizes. Everything a jumbled mix, like jenga about to topple.

I wondered to myself, “Homeschooler, perhaps? Maybe mixed ages in the house…I know that stack.”

Slipped into the book return.

To my left, we’d noticed a group of kids playing in a room, all probably preteen to early teenagers. Maybe an after school club or something. They have been giggling, laughing, and shooting rubber band creations across the sunlit room, sunset approaching.

The mom, now freed of her book stack, indicated that they were going into that room of established, blooming friendships to get information for another library event or club. The boy resisted. Hard. He said he already knew what he needed to know from a flier. Mom resisted. She didn’t have enough info.

Quick escalation. Every studious heart in the room was trying not to notice but was probably taking in every word, every movement, every foot stomp of a giant tantrum in progress, shaggy blonde hair shaking over a tie-dyed lanky frame.

It was clear from the outside.

Mom tried her best to be firm, kind (enough, though she was clearly agitated), and demand cooperation. What seemed reasonable to her was not reasonable to her son. She just wanted him to go into the room with the happy kids and get information. No harm, no foul.

What was left unsaid, seemed pretty clear to both of us. The son was scared. Embarrassed. New people. Uncertainty. “You didn’t tell me we were going to do this!”

Sunset was piercing the westerly windows. Dinnertime on the horizon, like the sun a bright orange plate. He was also probably hungry.

Volume raised. Arms flailed. Feet stomped. Physical and emotional distance grew.

Both stubborn in their embarrassment. Not wanting to be seen by peers as losing it publicly.

“You never told me! You go in alone!” “No. We’re in this together. You told me yesterday and earlier this week that you wanted to go.” “Not today! Tomorrow!”

Tiny compromise, the boy agreed to stand in the entry of the room. Mom cheerfully asked her question. And they turned on their heels to depart, tense expressions on their faces. The boy continued to emotionally crumple like a toddler. At the exit, his fingers curled into an all too familiar position to me. Not a fist, but an animalistic claw- out to scratch and grab. He aggressively grabbed his mom; she stopped the motion. Standing her ground without raising her voice, she expressed that this wasn’t an acceptable way to deal with his emotions. He threw his arms in a classic preteen dramatic fashion and stormed through the door.

“You never told me what we were gonna do!!!”

The room breathed again, a sad, collective breath. I think kids do need help to calm their chaos. Caretakers need help to calm their chaos. This boy, faced with a host of unknowns, wasn’t able to face it with grace or confidence. A mom, shocked by her son’s response, wasn't either.

I can imagine this scenario has played out before. Maybe the mom thought that if she didn’t mention it, he couldn’t possibly get worked up. But he did. Even if it seems basic to her, he felt blindsided by a lack of expectation settings.

Let’s imagine a version of this with a simple conversation before they enter.

As mom found a parking spot she could have said, “Hey buddy, here’s the plan. When we park, I’d like your help to carry in this stack of books. I’m glad I have a strong guy like you to help me. After we drop them into the slot, I need to grab a form from the after school club, and I’d like you to go with me. Then we can head right home.”

“I don’t want to go into that room.”

In the calm and privacy of the car, they can talk through their plan, without an outburst. He has a plan for getting in and an exit plan. She can address his fears and discomfort and find a compromise without feeling like she needs to “stand her ground.”

Her simple conversation validates his strength, her expectations, her need for his help, and an exit strategy for him. All of these can help build connection and felt safety for an uncertain youth.