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tantrums

'We do not negotiate with tantrumists.'

Flying can test anyone’s patience, but Reddit user Safe_Ad_9314, may take the cake for having all their buttons pushed. They shared how a recent flight turned into a surprising lesson in setting boundaries, explaining that they had reserved a window seat—an intentional choice aimed at making their journey just a bit more enjoyable. But as soon as they settled in, a family boarded and a conflict began brewing.

After several attempts to calm her, the father turned to the man and asked if they’d give up their seat for the child, adding, “She’s just a kid.” The OP gently stood his ground, explaining that the window seat was not a random perk, but something they had deliberately arranged—and even paid extra for.

The family’s six-year-old daughter quickly grew upset that she didn’t have the coveted window view. Her frustration was clear:

"I want the window! I want the window!"
— the child

child, tantrum, kids, boundaries, spoiled, gifVeruca Salt.

Giphy

Eventually, the mother distracted the child with a tablet, and the flight continued. When everyone deboarded at their destination, the mother shot a lingering remark at u/Safe_Ad_9314:

"Some people just have no heart."
— the mother

That stung. It’s never easy to feel judged—especially when you’ve tried to be polite. Unsure if they’d done the right thing, u/Safe_Ad_9314 turned to the trusty Reddit subforum r/AITAH for feedback, asking, "AITA for not giving up my window seat on a plane to a kid just because she threw a tantrum?"

The response was overwhelmingly supportive, reframing the encounter into a conversation about how we teach children empathy, respect, and understanding of life’s little disappointments.

Boundaries Matter—Especially in Public

Do we cave at the first sign of a tantrum, or do we help kids learn that not every wish can be granted? The community weighed in:

"You teach your kids how society works and that not everything is at their disposal all the time."
u/hierosx

People pointed out that giving in to every demand might soothe tears in the moment, but can set unrealistic expectations for the future. If having a window seat was so important, some said, parents could plan ahead and book one. After all, this wasn’t about denying a child joy, but about showing them how to handle disappointment gracefully.

Why Tantrums Don’t Work

Many commenters stood behind the idea that it’s kinder in the long run to help children learn healthy boundaries:

"I learned when my kids were toddlers that the best policy was 'we do not negotiate with tantrumists.'"
u/BeBearAwareOK

Setting clear limits doesn’t mean being cruel. It means showing kids that while it’s okay to feel upset, not every feeling must be instantly gratified.

Nobody Owes You Their Seat

airplane, plane, window, window seat, boundaries Tip for parents: If you kiddo wants this view, book the right seats. Photo by Francesco Ungaro

At the core, many commenters reminded readers that random strangers aren’t responsible for resolving someone else’s poor planning or appeasing a meltdown:

"It’s not your responsibility to accommodate someone else’s poor planning or their child’s tantrum."
u/experiment_ad_4

Others emphasized that saying “no” isn’t heartless—sometimes it’s a necessary act of kindness to the child, who learns that people have their own boundaries and can’t always bend.

"I am a mum of three. Kids get explained that they can’t have that seat as it’s already occupied, end of it."
u/Sure_Freedom3

Instead of feeling guilty, u/Safe_Ad_9314 received a gentle reminder that upholding personal boundaries is part of living in a shared world. When we calmly stand our ground, we help create an environment where everyone learns that respect and empathy go both ways—even at 30,000 feet.

In the end, that’s what makes these moments matter. When we model healthy limits, we’re not just keeping a seat—we’re showing kids that there’s a bigger picture out there, one where kindness and fairness guide us all.

community, kindness, fairness, boundaries, life lessons Pass It On Be Kind GIF Giphy

This article originally appeared last year.

Ari is 3 years old. And like many 3-year-olds, she recently had a mini-meltdown at Walmart.

Her dad, Terrel "Mr. Rico Relz" Crawford, knew his daughter wasn't hungry, sick, or especially tired. She simply had a case of the "gimmes." Instead of buying everything in sight to temper Ari's tantrum, Crawford opted to take her outside to the parking lot to let her calm down.


While outside, Crawford got on Facebook Live to talk about Ari's tantrum. And, in short order, his level-headed response went viral.

The Ohio father of four's six-minute video is funny and sincere, as Crawford is endlessly patient with young Ari. He begins by simply letting her feel her feelings, before asking the age-old parent question:

Then he calmly broke it down to her in age-appropriate language, explaining that they were going to stay put until she calmed down. If she acted up again, they'd be right back outside.

Crawford also took a few minutes to address his own parenting mishaps and challenges.

He reveals that sometimes he does give in too easily and occasionally spoils his kids, which may explain why Ari was so upset when she didn't get her way this time. Like all parents, he makes mistakes, but he never stops trying to improve.

Crawford also encouraged other parents to use words and time-outs, or as he called it, "an attitude break," instead of escalating the moment by yelling, spanking, or making a scene in public.

"I ain't got to argue with no 3-year-old kid, no 2-year old kid, no damn kid. I'm the daddy. I'm grown," he said with a small smile. "We about to sit down until you stop acting a fool..."

And, after just a few minutes, Ari was ready to return to the store, calm, collected, and already giggling, with another life lesson from Dad under her belt.

Crawford's ability to keep it 100 with his daughter, and the audience, may be why his video has more than 22 million views.

Crawford didn't expect his video to go viral, but clearly, his message struck a chord.

"I thinks it's due to the fact that as a parent we all [have encountered] the same exact situation, many times," he writes in an e-mail. "Seeing another person act or stand up usually sparks a fire that's honestly inside each and every one of us."

Because there's no way around it: Tantrums are going to happen.

You may not be able to go outside and cool down at every opportunity. That's OK. You may raise your voice or say things you don't mean. That's OK too. Kids (and parents) have their moments.

But at the end of the day, if you love, support, and value your kids, that's what they'll remember — not the occasional trip to the parking lot.

Whether you've been there before or just admire Crawford's cool, check out his video in its entirety.

It was 10:15 on a Wednesday morning, and I was standing outside a coffee shop, holding back tears.

10 minutes earlier, I'd walked into the coffee shop with my 8-year-old son. We were greeted by the anxious looks of a half-dozen people quietly working on their laptops, wondering if my son was going to disturb their peace. They were right to worry.

I had pulled my son out of school three months before; it would be another year before we got his autism diagnosis, but it was already clear that his combination of anxiety, sensitivity, and giftedness made public school a poor fit. That day, we were on our way to the gym class that was part of our new homeschooling schedule. A pre-class snack was part of the routine.


But that day, the routine was off. My son didn’t want to leave the house; then he didn’t want to get out of the car. I parked directly in front of the coffee shop, hoping to lure him out with a snack – but as soon as he got to the counter, he fixated on a brownie in the display case.

All photos via iStock.

"I want a brownie, please," he told the barista.

I overruled him: "You can get a healthy snack."

"I want a brownie!" This time, his request came out as a shouted demand.

All eyes were on us, glaring over the tops of their computers.

"You can have a muffin and some milk or nothing," I told him.

"I WANT A BROWNIE!!!"

Did I hear a whispered "tsk" from one of the café’s patrons, or was I imagining things? No time to check.

"We’re going," I said firmly, taking my son by the hand. As I pulled him away from the counter, he grabbed onto the legs of a table occupied by a couple of women. I pried his fingers off, one a time, and dragged him across the floor as he screamed.

By the time I got him to the sidewalk, with the café door shut behind me, he was in tears. I held mine back, pushing aside the mortification of yet another public meltdown so that I could focus on calming my son.

It’s a scene I’ve lived through over and over again, as parents of special needs kids often do.

I’ve experienced the glares, the muttering, the unasked-for advice: They’re all part of raising a child with an invisible disability.

Most of the time, I don’t think of my son’s autism as a disability; it’s inseparable from what makes him an extraordinary, delightful, and fascinating little person. But when all eyes are on us during a public tantrum, I feel like he’s just as excluded as a wheelchair user confronting a flight of stairs.

Standing outside the coffee shop, holding back my tears, here’s what I wish those coffee shop denizens had known.

1. Yes, I’d like your help.

If you’re scared that I’ll be offended, don’t be — and I won’t ask you to take over the tantrum management. But I would have welcomed someone getting up from their laptop to open the door while I dragged my son out, and I dream about someone offering to pack up our books on the not-infrequent occasions when I have to pack up with one hand and hold a raging child with the other.

I would have welcomed someone getting up from their laptop to open the door while I dragged my son out.

2. But not your advice.

One of the reasons I drag my son away from public meltdowns is because all too often, my fellow parents have taken those meltdowns as an invitation to offer their own parenting advice. It’s like a knife in my heart when someone "kindly" tells me I just need to set firmer limits — after I’ve spent hours and hours reading up on child psychology, working with child therapists, and setting up visual schedules and reward charts.

3. Talking to my son will make things worse.

Another reason for my quick escape? Getting my son out of the path of would-be saviors. When he’s melting down in public, I say an inner prayer: "Please, please, don’t let any of these people talk to my kid right now." When he’s having a tantrum, input from anyone — especially strangers — just increases his anxiety and distress.

4. Please don't judge me.

What goes on inside your head is up to you. But the staring, the head shaking, the under-the-breath muttering: I see it all. Most days, I see it on Facebook — all those "what today’s parents get wrong" — before we even leave the house. I already feel all the pain and compassion and fear that comes with raising a child who has acute challenges filtering out the noise of the world and managing his own emotions; I am trying to let go of the shame that can go with it. When I see and hear people judging me for my parenting "failures," it makes that a lot harder.

The staring, the head shaking, the under-the-breath muttering: I see it all.

5. A smile would mean the world.

I understand that you may not be able to offer help or may feel uncomfortable getting embroiled in our drama. But a sympathetic smile goes a long way. Nothing feels more lonely than the moment when my son melts down in public; a smile that says, "Gosh, that looks really challenging, and I see you’re doing the best you can" is a lifeline.

The day of Browniegate, I finally got something even better than a smile.

Once we made it to the sidewalk, I managed to calm my son down enough to get him to a nearby park: Sometimes exercise can help him get out of an emotional tailspin. When we got to the park, however, he was overwhelmed by the crowd of kids, and he wanted to flee; he suggested that he could get his exercise by walking back to the coffee shop instead so that he could get half a brownie.

When we got back to the coffee shop, I told him to wait outside because it was too embarrassing to be seen buying a brownie after our earlier drama. But my son wanted to go in and apologize. He asked for his brownie and politely told the barista, "I’m sorry for my behavior earlier."

"That was very nice," I said, to reinforce his turnaround. "You did a good job."

The barista looked at me and said quietly, "You did a good job, too."

That was when I cried.