The Monster
By: Constance Hutcheson
Tags: Los Angeles, Parenting, Public Transportation

My last bus is the 204, which takes me down Vermont from Sunset to Melrose. Two stops before mine, near the entrance to LA City College, there’s always a large group of students waiting to get on.They range in age from retirees to kids recently out of high school, in a dazzling assortment of nationalities.

Among them yesterday was a young mother, maybe Indian or Pakistani. with a very unhappy two or three year old son. He was a stocky little guy, in a red plaid flannel shirt, wailing and thrashing, and resisting in every way possible, his mom’s effort to lead him by the hand to the seat directly across from me. I always sit on one of the seats over the wheel that face the middle aisle, so I don’t have to climb over anyone on my way out.

His protesting was escalating into a full blown tantrum as she managed to get him up onto the seat, and he was yelling, “N0! NO! NO!” as he punched her arm. I felt so bad for her, as she kept talking to him in a calm voice, her eyes nervously darting from one disapproving face to the next. I smiled sympathetically as her eyes met mine. The middle aged Armenian woman turned and shot her a stern look. The old Asian man muttered something to his seatmate. Everyone else was either staring or trying not to stare.

None of my kids had ever been tantrum throwers, and had always been pretty well behaved in public. They were more inclined to stealthy adventures, slipping away to exploit the potential of their novel surroundings. There was the time in the grocery store. While I was trying to find a specific cleaning product, Jill and Nat scouted ahead on the aisle, and returned to the cart each carrying an armload of small dish towels.

“Mom, look! These were free!”

“They were not! You’d better put them right back where you found them!”

“No, they were! It said! Come on, we’ll show you!”

And sure enough, at the end of the aisle was a large display of plastic bottles of dishsoap, each with an empty cardboard collar proclaiming: “FREE DISHTOWEL!”

Or the time when we were shopping for school clothes in J C Penney, and Andrew disappeared under a clothing rack-he was about the same age as the little monster sitting across from me. We fanned out to find him. I spotted a wavelike movement along a rack of sweaters and rushed toward the end, where I caught Andrew as he popped out from under the crest of the wave, and the entire rack of sweaters collapsed.

My stop was coming up, and I felt like I was abandoning this poor mom to a mob of judges. Sometimes you can distract a fidgety or crying child with a smile or a little wave, or making a funny face. But this kid was trapped so tight in his ball of rage I doubt he was even aware that he was in a bus full of people.

The bus slowed as it approached my stop, and I stood up. Suddenly I raised my arms, arching over the little monster, and roared:

“ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

He was startled into silence. Scowling at me, but with a hint of uncertainty, he leaned slightly closer to his mother. I frowned as seriously as I could, pointed one finger at him, and growled:

“BE. GOOD!”

His mom let out a little laugh. Reluctant smiles spread up the aisle, like a wave through a rack of sweaters. And I stepped off the bus to walk to work.