Compassion

My relationships with religion have always been very marginal, but I admit to being intrigued by the history of Catholicism, and I have cycled half of the pilgrimage trail to Santiago de Compostela in Northern Spain. I also took quite a few courses in South and Southeast Asian art, and have learned a cursory amount of information about Buddhism. My dear friend Thomenon likes to say that the Jesuits and Buddhists have much in common in terms of being hair-splitting in their approaches to life. Both also stress compassion as one of the most important human virtues.

I would like to think I'm compassionate, but the truth is that I am pretty much only compassionate with people who don't piss me off. That isn't really what compassion is about, I know. And in my current sleep-deprived and constantly simmering state, it's really easy to make me mad. I get mad about all sorts of things, my personal favorite being the shortfalls of others where it comes to politeness. (I know all about glass houses, thank you.) I suppose that I like to think of myself as near perfect or at least ashamed of my imperfections in this realm, so I hate it when others are knowingly and unabashedly rude. I must learn to watch myself because I am starting to yell obscenities in the car in response to others' rudeness, and while my son is apraxic, it won't be long before he is able to emulate me, none the less.

So this morning I had a terrible time with the two kids in their Music Together class. It's normally fun, and of course the mix of children can be wild, not to mention that my son's best friend is in the class and that they are frequently exuberantly wild. Most of the mothers in there are understanding of my being stretched in making sure my two don't end up killing each other or themselves or anyone else. But some of the moms look at me and my elder son as if we are subhuman. These Stepford moms must have a lot of childcare at home or be extraterrestrial themselves, because I have no idea how they and their kids can be dirtless, spotless, and snotless at all times. And some of the moms are perfectly made up with shining hair. Maybe they come out of pods in the morning. Who knows? Anyway, one mom with an 18-month-old son gave me some nasty looks when my elder son knocked hers over in a game of wild chase. Yes, Callum pushed him. It may or may not have been intentional. I gave Callum a time out and severe warning. I apologized to the mom. No spoken reply to me or acknowledgment. Then her 18-month-old took drum sticks and beat my one-year-old over the head repeatedly and severely. Did she apologize to me? No. She removed her kid, but hey, perhaps she could have acknowledged that her kid isn't perfect, either. After one more push by Callum we left class because I was 1. too tired to keep dealing with the situation 2. living on fumes 3. worried that I couldn't bite my tongue if her son beat my one-year-old any more, while she gave me icy looks.

My goal today: be compassionate for those who lack compassion.