My daughter used to do a terrific job of convincing every German we encountered that I was the worst mother in the world. Whenever she cried (which was almost every time I took her on the bus, for starters), everybody would look at her tenderly, and click their tongues, and say things that I assumed meant "poor baby", or similar. Even when she was being really, really naughty.
I knew there was nothing the matter with her, in most cases, and nothing I could do. Often she was simply angry that she was on the bus, and I could hardly solve that by getting off in the middle of nowhere, just to please her. (Besides, then she would have cried because we had to walk, or wait for the next bus.) Other times, she cried because she'd been asleep, and always woke up extremely irritable. She cried for up to an hour, post-afternoon nap, most days.
Once she got wound up, nothing would please her. It only took a couple of minutes of screaming and bellowing before she was completely hysterical. She was a semi-professional tantrum-thrower, a child who could vomit of her own free will, simply by crying and forcing herself to gag.
Still, I found myself acting against my own better judgment, making what I knew to be futile (or even counter-productive) soothing attempts, just to escape the watchful eyes and unhelpful suggestions of those around me.
"Give her cake," people would say. "Feed her."
So there I'd be, proffering plain biscuits or sultanas or a drink of milk, even though that only made her more cross. (Eating was one of her most hated activities. There's a good reason, other than her genetics, that she's the size of the average German child, a year younger than herself.) But I had to be seen to be doing something; most Germans don't seem to be of the opinion that a small child will cry without a legitimate reason. Therefore, a parent deliberately ignoring crying is seen as nothing short of cruel.
One German mother I know, whose children did like to kick up a fuss on public transport when they were young, once let one of her children cry for a while, despite the increasingly angry glares she was getting from her fellow passengers.
"What kind of a mother are you?!" one of them exclaimed at last.
"A bloody good one," she answered, and continued to ignore the tantrum. Nerves of steel, I tell you!
I've often wondered why German children are generally so calm. They sit quietly in their prams or strollers (even the ultra-old fashioned prams, in which a sitting child has no backrest, and is strapped in with a sort of leather harness that allows them to move about but presumably not fall out), wearing calm, blank faces.
Admittedly, these quiet children are often eating. Bread rolls or pretzels are popular, and toddlers can often be seen feeding themselves juice from a bottle. (A big no-no in Australia.) So this is clearly why everyone recommended feeding my daughter - it works on most German kids.
Other problems I had with my daughter in public included her trying to climb out of her stroller as I was pushing her (she once fell right out in the food hall of KaDeWe, Berlin - people looked at me like I was an attempted murderer); my daughter running away out of my sight in shops (passersby tell me to let her, because "she will be all right"); and my daughter going absolutely ballistic, armed with a children's trolley, in the supermarket.
The nice thing is, nobody ever says, "Will you shut that kid up?", which people might, elsewhere. And on a recent trip to the supermarket, when my ears were filled with constant, blood-curdling screams emitted by the hot-headed little creature sitting on my hip, nobody said a word. Certainly, they looked, but there didn't seem to be any serious disapproval or malice. It must have been a bit like watching a foreign film, without the subtitles.
I, like my daughter, am a classic crazy foreigner. My voice gets louder when I'm upset or agitated (not quieter, as is the German way). I laugh, cry, gesticulate and shout too much. My face is never still. And even if captured in a still photo, I wouldn't look German; I even dress like a foreigner. My daughter does, too (surprise, surprise). Ethnicity aside, her clothes mark her out, boldly, as a foreigner. (I haven't even bought her any sensible German shoes... they don't appeal to my aesthetic, I'm afraid, no matter how well-made they are.)
I don't know why German children seem so content and calm, but while I'm very glad if they are (and even happier for their parents), I think it's impossible for any child of mine to be like that. The tantrums are just part of the package: a package that also includes dancing in the street, a yearning for music, a theatricality, and a wild and passionate nature. I love her imagination, her exuberance, and her loving, sensitive ways; but, like me, she's also capable of getting very, very upset. There's nothing too strange about her tantrums, really; after all, I had them when I was young, too.
Now that she's getting older, and I'm getting more self-assured as a parent (and a foreigner), I deal with her tantrums as I see best, without worrying too much about the impression I give others. I certainly have some very frustrating trips to the shops, but gradually, it's all getting easier.
I do see the occasional little German having a tantrum, too, which is a relief, really. It proves to me that there's no great German secret for manageable kids. And even if there was, I wouldn't really want to change my daughter... I'd just like a bit less screaming, and a bit more staying-with-Mummy in the shops. Sadly, I'm not going to achieve that with cake.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment