When a child screams in a department store, the people surrounding can be placed into two separate categories: Those who politely ignore and those who turn, stand on tip-toes and engorge their eyes wide to find them.

I am a turner, a rubber-necker, an eye-engorger. It seems that in such situations, I cannot help myself.

“Wahhh!!” A small boy constricted tightly in a small, yellow stroller wails loudly. Mother crouches in front of the four (maybe five) year old and sweetly asks, “What… what do you want?”

He screams a response.

She digs in her large purse rather franticly until she produces a strange looking toy in front of the still-wailing boy.

“Want this?” She asks.

With a scrunched face, the child slaps it from her hand. I follow the strange rolling toy until it abruptly stops, hitting my black leather shoes. Picking it up, I first study it, then the mother and child as I stride toward them.

“Hello,” I say while shifting from my feet to my knees. The boy quiets, obviously wary of strangers, and meets my eyes with his teary brown pair. “Do you have a pet?” I ask, an easy subject for redirection, kids love talking about their pets.

“A dog.”

I light my eyes up and slightly gasp, “A dog?! Ooo. What’s it’s name?” Continual questions and answers gains compliance in a short amount of time and… with out the child knowing it.

“Benji,” he answers, still slightly shy.

“Benji? What a lovely name, I bet he’s pink.” I set an opportunity for correction, to give the child a feeling of importance.

He giggled, “Na, he’s brown and white.”

“I bet Benji has toys he loves to play with, does he?”

“Yeah, he has a neat rope duck,” he answered eagerly, good.

“I bet you like this toy,” I hold up the strange toy in my hand, “just like Benji likes his.” Connecting the conversational distracter with the tangible distracter.

“Yeah.” He says simply and reaches for the toy.

I smile slightly and say, “I know your mother taught you the secret word.”

“Please?” He asks, so I hand him the toy and smile wider, reiteration of compliance.

“Give Benji a pat for me.”

“I will.”

I smile at him then the mother and go back to browsing through the shirt rack.

It’s a challenge, it’s a science, it’s my job. And I couldn’t love it more.