Whoever corrects a mocker invites insult; whoever rebukes a wicked man incurs abuse (Proverbs 9:7).

It's the kind of situation that made everyone within a 10-meter radius uncomfortable; but I never know exactly how I'm supposed to respond.  A young mother is shopping with her daughter, maybe around 4 or 5 years old, and they're obviously having a bad day.  The little girl is fussing and crying, and unfortunately the mother only seems to be making things worse.  She is hissing and yelling and threatening.  "If you do not shut your mouth right now, I will take you out into the parking lot and give you something to cry about!"  The whole thing is accompanied by angry contortions of the mother's face and arms.  Still, as painful as it is for me to watch, a part of me identifies with the mother.  I have bad days sometimes, too, when my kids push me to the brink of insanity.  Sometimes harsh words leak out.  It really is one of the most difficult phases in life, dealing with the constant chafings and challenges of pre-school children.  So I don't automatically fault the poor woman for her frustrations.  But I do see that things are getting worse, not better.  When the little girl reaches out to touch something from one of the store's shelves, the mother grabs her forearm and yanks it back down into the shopping cart.  Again, she softly screams:  "I said no touching! What is wrong with you?!?  Can you not hear me?"  The mother mumbles curses under her breath and glares out at the store's merchandise, fixated on accomplishing her mission before an explosion happens.

I feel a bit concerned for the little girl -- that her welfare may be genuinely endangered by her mother's current state of mind.  But there is also a part of me which feels a sort of sympathetic embarrassment for the distraught mother.  I know that if I were in her position, at any rate, I would be embarrassed to know what other people were perceiving.  In this case, it is clearly not a flattering portrait.  Still, I know that it's not nice to have other people meddle in matters that are really none of their business.  I don't want to be nosey.  But at the same time, here they are -- shopping at the same time in the same store as me -- so doesn't that kind of make it my business?  Isn't my nose already right in the middle of it?  Can I in good conscience turn away from this situation and trust that everything will work itself out for the best?

The issue is decided in my mind by another incident at the check-out counter.  The little girl has wilted, like a puppy locked in the back seat of a car on a hot summer day, but while waiting to check out from the store she suddenly becomes reanimated.  She tugs on her mother's shirt sleeve and says, in a panicked voice, "Mommy!  Mommy!  I gotta go!"  Her wiggling and gesturing indicates that her excretory system is screaming for attention.  Granted, the mother is down to the last five minutes before she can finally exit to the parking lot be finished with this ordeal -- so, again, I think I would be frustrated by this inopportune emergency too.  But instead of just rolling her eyes or sighing heavily, like I would probably do in her situation, the young mother interrupts the little girl's repetitive tugging at her shirt sleeve by snatching her fingers and gripping them tightly.  She's gripping them a little too tightly, and she's bending her face down to within a couple of centimeters from the girl's face.  She whispers threats that, while inaudible, are clearly harsh and painful.  The little girl's lower lip starts to tremble, and a tear escapes down her cheek.  Her eyes frantically sweep the scene, trying to avoid contact with the menacing presence in front of her and -- it seems to me -- searching for someone who can step in and help her.

So I breathe a deep breath and step in.  "Excuse me, ma'am," I say.  "Do you, uh... Is there any way I can help?"  I raise my eyebrows, hoping to strike a friendly, helpful, neighborly affect.

In my mind, I expect that she would turn around, blink as if being awoken from some sort of malevolent enchantment, and then thank me most graciously for my timely intervention.  The reality, of course, is that she turns and unleashes her venom on me.  "Who the hell do you think you are?"  She takes a step closer to me, pointing her finger at my chest like a handgun.  "Why don't you mind your own goddamn business?"  I can feel her breath on my face; it's scented with hamburger grease and onions.  "What, do you think you're like the goddamn children's protection agency or somethin'?  Goddammit, I can't believe people like you."  She goes on to ridicule me to the cashier as someone who has no idea what it takes to raise children, as someone who thinks he's some sort of caped crusader trying to rid the world of evil, as someone who thinks he knows what's best for other people.  After every sentence, she turns in my direction and throws daggers at me with her eyes.  But mostly, she's working with her mouth.  The cashier just goes about her business, her face expressionless, trying to ignore the young mother as much as possible and just get her checked out.  Even so, it is an agonizing couple of minutes.  When the last of the young mother's groceries are bagged, she turns around to give me one last glare and thrusts her middle finger up toward me, almost as a sort of wave good-bye.  I'm embarrassed by the whole scene, wondering what the rest of the shoppers in the check-out line must be thinking -- but at least I have one solace from the whole experience, knowing that the little girl had a few minutes respite while her mother picked on someone her own size.