By Paint Her in Color Founder, Laura Spiegel

I used to be a glarer. 

One of those people who would squint her eyes at a passing offender in attempts to show him what’s up. I mean, why be forthright when passive aggressiveness often does the trick? Plus, if called out, you can feign a faulty contact lens or a sensitivity to sunlight or a nervous tic.

I used to exercise this highly effective approach to confrontation at the children’s hospital. Don’t worry.  I wasn’t staring down kids or frosting out babies or anything like that. I was focusing my silent anger on the parents. More specifically, the parents who parked at the entrance to the hospital.  With their windows down. While smoking their cigarettes. 

If there is one place where we should absolutely try not to light up a ciggy, it’s at the children’s hospital.  Not just because there are “No smoking” signs everywhere. But because it’s the right thing to do. I mean, do we really want our kids walking through clouds of smoke on their way to the respiratory wing of the hospital?

Yes, these parents were once the targets of my beady eyes and indignant harrumphs. More than once, I thought about actually saying something. In the end, I didn’t. You know why? Because right next to the “No smoking” sign is an equally noticeable sign banning firearms. 

But not long ago, I had an interaction that changed my perspective. I was at the hospital with a group of parents who were sharing their personal stories. All of us had children who came to the hospital frequently for care. One man shared that he had recently lost a child. As he shared his story, he bared his soul with so much raw emotion that he nearly staggered. 

When he was done, he headed outside.  “I know I shouldn’t do it,” he said on his way out, cigarette in hand.  “But I just need a break.” 

And that was it. This man had just shared the worst day of his life with a room full of strangers, and he needed a smoke.  

Who was I to judge?

Since that day, I’ve stopped giving the stink eye to the cars that idle outside in their cloud of smoke. I still don’t love it, and I still sometimes wonder if maybe they just couldn’t wait another minute or two to light up. But I try not to mentally convict them anymore. Who knows what they’re going through?

Did they just lose a loved one?

Did they just receive the worst news of their lives?

Did the bottom just drop out on all they’d ever known? 

How in the world can I expect people to be patient with me if I can’t extend kindness in return? Kindness should extend not only to what we do understand, but also to what we don’t.

So, I’m trying. I will still sprint by people who are smoking at the hospital. And I will still instruct my daughter to hold her breath.

But I won’t frost anyone out on the way…