There was a little boy on the train who was 2.5 years old, with a shaved head, large eyes, and a bright smile. For half of my commute home, this child wold entertain himself by covering his own ears and then screaming as loud as he could. Oddly enough, this did not wake his sleeping father, whose lap he sat in, or his sleeping mother by their side. Perhaps they were used to this. Some minutes later, I got fed up and locked eyes with the boy. My gaze hardened, and I stared him down. The boy’s smile faded, his brows twisted in to a worried look. He quieted down, and didn’t scream again for the rest of my ride home.