Never underestimate the power of a 2-year-old. They may be small — barely 25 pounds — and appear sweet and compliant, but when they want something, watch out.
It happened 24 years ago, and even though I didn’t witness it firsthand, it’s a story that has stayed with me ever since — a pure, honest glimpse into the kind and giving person my daughter would become.
Mommy and Me class was coming to an end. My daughter, Daniela, had gone with her aunt, as she sometimes did. Circle time had just wrapped up, signaling the much-anticipated cookie handout. The mob of toddlers beelined toward their teacher, Ms. Carole, with sticky hands extended for their coveted sweet treat. When it came time for Daniela to receive her cookie, she did — and then she stayed, waiting for more.
“There’s your cookie, sweetie,” Ms. Carole said, expecting my daughter to keep walking. But Daniela stayed put.
“I need another one,” she countered, with the cool resolve of Clint Eastwood in “Dirty Harry.”
“Sorry, honey, we each only get one cookie,” Ms. Carole said firmly.
“I need another!” she demanded, raising a voice that was usually soft and polite.
Ms. Carole shifted in her seat. The line was backing up, and children were eyeing the tray of chocolate chip cookies impatiently. She scanned the room for me but, unfamiliar with my sister’s face, came up dry.
“Yes, I know they’re yummy, but we need to save enough for—”
“I need two! Two!” my daughter insisted, her voice growing impatient with this adult, who clearly didn’t understand.
Ms. Carole always brought a couple of extras, but if she gave more than one to my daughter, chaos would surely ensue. Meanwhile, my child’s determination dissolved into frustration, then heartbreak in the split second that defines a toddler’s emotional range.
“Two! Two! Two!” she bellowed, big, fat tears forming in her chestnut eyes.
She twisted her lanky torso toward the back of the classroom and pointed at my sister, sitting on a tiny blue chair waiting for her niece to return.
“For my tía!” she urged. “I need a cookie for my tía.”
Ms. Carole exhaled and smiled, as she suddenly understood my daughter’s plight. This wasn’t a greedy attempt for more cookies; this was an innate act of kindness in its purest form. During her entire plea, Daniela hadn’t even taken a nibble from the cookie she held, now soft and smushed in her little hand. She was too busy making sure she would get another one for her aunt to enjoy as well.
Sometimes kindness and the act of giving can come in the simplest of ways. My 2-year-old didn’t stop to question it; she just shared what she had, one cookie at a time.
Happy Reading!
Alona Abbady Martinez
alona@bocaratonobserver.com