The other day, our family of five found ourselves in a lengthy line at the airport waiting to go through security.

We were shoulder-to-shoulder with a woman about my age (thirty-ahem-ish) and her two beautiful children.

I’m guessing her son was around our Hanna’s age, nine or ten and their daughter might have been around Ellie’s age, seven-ish.

I smiled at the kids and looked up at the Mom about to give my nod of I-know-this-is-exhausting-but-we’re-all-going-to-get-through-it-and-find-a-Starbucks-on-the-other-side but she didn’t meet my gaze.

Instead, I heard her say to her son who was bending down to pick up his back-pack he had rested on the carpeted floor for a couple of seconds while he switched arms.

Mother: Get that off this fucking floor! Do you know this is the dirtiest fucking place on earth? Have you got shit for brains?

Deep breath.

Greg and I had a long look at each other. I guess I wanted to know if anyone else heard what I had just heard, if anyone had seen the deflated look on this young boy’s face and more obviously, would punching someone in the line at the airport get me arrested?

Next she went for her daughter.

Mother: Do you know how much I paid for that God-damn toy and you haven’t even played with it? You’ve just made me drag it around all fucking day through this dirty fucking airport?

Me to Greg: At what point am I allowed to say something?

Greg: Never, it’s not your fight.

But whose fight was it? Surely these kids weren’t going to defend themselves against this monster and if they tried, I imagine their situation would only get worse.

If not me, then who?

The young girl looked in our direction and mumbled something to her mother. I suspect mumbling is about as strong as her voice has ever gotten.

She looked in our direction and said to her daughter, “Yeah, they’re Canadian” after glancing at our passports.

Maybe she thought my scowl, red-face and ready-to-burst demeanor could only come from being from out-of-town? Like people in her world find this behaviour totally acceptable.

Wrong.

I hugged my three kids, I told them how special they were and asked if I had told them how many times around the world and back I loved them today.

They replied, “Yes Mom. One billion, plus infinity, plus google, we know.”

I braided Ellie’s hair trying to force her head to stay facing forward so she wouldn’t have to see the sad faces of kids her age and size right next to her.

When Greg asked me if I noticed how shocked our kids were when they saw this exchange I said I did but isn’t shock exactly what you want them to feel? If they weren’t shocked, we haven’t been doing our job.

In a way I’m mad at myself for not standing up for those kids.

I thought maybe if I wrote about it, anyone else out there who thinks I’m the only one who is not okay with people who treat their kids that way are wrong. There are billions of us and not all Canadian.

If you’re wondering if it’s cool, acceptable or if anyone feels for you for whatever set back you’ve had in your life to bring you to this place.

It isn’t. It’s not. They don’t.