the mothers in the cafe...

I am in a coffee shop (again) while I write this. A few moments back, a number of young mothers came into the cafe. It is a regular meeting place for them. I see them every morning…at least on those mornings that I am here.

They come in with their children…babies, mostly, in strollers and carriers. And, then, after having a coffee or two, they leave again. This morning, I watch them. The first mother pushes her stroller to the door. She fumbles with it. She tries to manage the carriage and her exit at the same time.

I am, of course, a southern boy. I was schooled to be a gentleman. So, even though I know what's coming, I leap to my feet and ask if I can hold the door for her and her baby.

And what I expect duly occurs. She snaps at me. Well, not exactly snaps. Her language is civil, even though her tone is not. "I can manage it myself." The stress is on the final syllable. I have, you see, insulted her by implying that she is not sufficient unto her own being. Alone, remote, distant, perfect.

Her friend, the mother with another carriage behind her, is perhaps embarrassed. She says to me, "I would have let you do it." I nod at her and return to my seat. The stream of mothers passes through the exit, each attempting to manage her child and the door at the same time, each not quite achieving that goal, each evidencing various degrees of discomfort.

They are gone.

So, let us summarize. The woman who spoke to me and refused my aid, what did she accomplish by her uncompromising assertion of self-sufficiency?

Well, she made it more difficult for her own child and her own self to leave the café. She made life slightly more uncomfortable at that moment for each of her friends—depriving them of the small but useful aid I would have given them at the door. By choosing (and it was a choice) to interpret my attempt at a civil gesture as an imposition, she made herself angry, which she did not have to be. And, as a lesser but still pertinent matter, she made me feel bad.

These were her accomplishments.

Sometimes I wonder. At what point does empowerment become self-destruction? Where does independence shade away into masochism?