Pops on the Floor

She tried to reach the top but didn’t, slid down the side, crumpled in a heap on the floor, and then began to wail.

I watched this happen with apprehension and curiosity.

She did not appear to be injured physically, but it’s hard to know with a 1 year old who isn’t yet fully speaking. I’m also a new grandpa (call me Pops) and haven’t been here before, caring for a distraught toddler whose parents are enjoying some together time, states away.

What struck me as curious was the fall was only a foot; the floor was padded with carpet and pillows; this seemed more like emotional pain than physical. I was looking for clues and data to figure out how to respond to her.

She had been climbing up the ottoman before with no problem, having fun, in the moment, fully lost in the physical exertion and play. Then, because of some cleanup I was doing, her extra pillow was gone and the climb became unexpectedly harder. She couldn’t get there and after one failed attempt, her body language and crying were declaring “I quit.”

Even rookie grandparents have parenting experience to draw from. So I first chose to wait. She continued her rueing-the-day vibe.

I next encouraged her to try again. This time she did. But with less effort and resolve than the first time, the result was the same. Like she knew it would be hard, wouldn’t work, and only offered the appearance of an attempt.

Then I offered to help, giving her a hand to stand on and push from. Come on little one. Give it another go. I’m here to help. I even lifted her leg to put my hand underneath. Don’t quit. You just have to work a little harder for what you want.

She never accepted the help and promptly collapsed once again in defeat and frustration.

I was still there, Pops and his granddaughter playing together. But I admit, I was also studying her, noticing something I had not seen before. Pondering how to help and guide her in this moment ..... when my thoughts were abruptly invaded by memories.

The strikeout that prompted the helmet and bat to take flight toward the dugout.

The golf club that ended up in the pond.

The harsh tone to my toddler, this girl’s dad, when he wouldn’t fall asleep.

Saying no to a new project, heading off my failure before it happened.

Hanging doors for the first time and declaring myself an idiot at the result.

The networking event that produced no meaningful connections or introductions.

The sales conversation that led to nowhere.

Anger at the road construction blocking my way home.

It wasn’t her anger that got me. It wasn’t even the failure to succeed that got me. It was the familiar narrative that resurfaced: It didn’t go the way I wanted it to and now, in my anger and disappointment, I want to quit.

I had seen this movie so often. Sometimes it forces you to watch. Other times, there’s an exit door before it even starts that can spare you the heartache before it happens.

Watching her was like a mirror reflecting so much of my own past. It was real, raw, unfiltered desire and emotion from a toddler. But I recognized this scene. I want this to be different, my outcome to be different, my circumstances to be different. And because they’re not I want to quit and give up.

I wonder if she was offering instruction, not just a reflection. Not about desire or emotion, but about what we do when things don’t go our way.

Jesus invites us to be childlike. Circumstances tempt us to become childish. I’ve known both. This moment reminded me which one I prefer.