There are days when a seemingly insignificant social media post captures the internet’s attention in an unexpected, colossal way.

Sometime during the fourth day of discourse about a tweet from a self-described "dog lady," I realized this was one such moment.

On Nov. 25, a woman posted a photo of a fluffy white dog and described her encounter with a stranger: "Small child runs up to Zoe. I body block and say, 'Maybe we don't run up to dogs we don't know.' The parent: 'She's 3.' Me: 'If she isn't on voice recall, maybe she should be leashed?'"

Her post has been viewed more than 23 million times, with thousands of comments, and has inspired countless takes. The anecdote didn’t provoke strong feelings for me, as either a parent or dog owner, but the massive and ongoing reaction to it has been intriguing.

What was this exchange really about?

It’s about how two vulnerable groups occupy space in public: children and dogs. Adults are responsible for minding the behavior and safety of both. This simple interaction illustrated a clash between permissive parenting culture and maximized dog culture. Toddler parent versus pet parent.

The online Greek chorus was eager to take sides. The majority of responses cast blame on the parent for a perceived lack of control over a toddler and for a response that deflected responsibility. To some extent, this is an understandable reaction by anyone who has seen a child run wild in public while a parent does little to rein in behavior.

But this critique fails to consider that toddlers of even the most conscientious parents will sometimes run up to cute dogs. Their tiny brains are still learning impulse control and manners and how the world works. Most dog owners know this, and will gently correct or protect a small child who approaches an unreliable or reactive pet. This comes with the territory of taking an animal into public spaces.

There seem to be many emboldened, vocal kid-haters and parent-shamers -- both online and in public -- who lack basic empathy.

Was it necessary to compare this child to a dog, suggesting to the parent that the toddler needs a leash? That’s responding to defensiveness with self-righteous rudeness.

Now, it’s true that more children today have disruptive behavior issues compared to when today’s adults grew up. There are lots of possible reasons, from environmental to biological to social. It’s also true that parents are more distracted these days -- just like all the rest of humanity -- by invasive technology.

But in the scenario described in the viral tweet, the 3-year-old was not behaving monstrously. A responsible dog owner should protect her dog from an overly enthusiastic toddler, just as a responsible parent should corral a toddler who runs off toward someone’s pet.

This tweet was a snapshot of the demise of basic courtesy in public. Both adults refused to extend grace toward one another. If we need to model better behavior for children, we also need to model it for each other. When the dog owner told the little girl not to run up to unknown dogs, the parent could have said, “Sorry, we’re still working on that. She’s 3.” A small acknowledgement that the dog owner helped keep the child safe would have diffused the dog owner’s frustration.

Similarly, when the parent responded defensively with “She’s 3,” the dog owner could have said, “Yes, that’s a challenging age.” This is a simple validation of the parent’s situation rather than a passive-aggressive criticism.

The most disturbing thing in the comments and replies to the tweet were the harsh condemnations of the parent and the declarations that it’s not a stranger’s job to keep someone else’s child safe.

Good grief. In a civilized society, it is everyone's job to try to keep an innocent child safe. It is still possible to respond to strangers with simple courtesy and de-escalate annoying social interactions.

Though I suppose if we all did so, we’d have a lot fewer viral tweets to talk about.

Within a few days of the start of the latest war in Gaza, I sent a series of texts to both our college-aged children.

I urged them to refrain from posting anything on social media that could be taken out of context or used to malign them or misrepresent their views. Emotions are inflamed, I wrote. Students are being doxxed and unfairly characterized as supporting terrorists.

They both bristled at the advice. To be fair, I felt uncomfortable giving it.

I remember vividly how I felt when I was in college and the war in Bosnia raged: More than 100,000 civilians were killed, up to 50,000 women raped and 2.2 million forced to flee their homes.

It was decades before social media existed, so I could only follow the reports in newspapers and had no digital platform to share my outrage and anguish. Had my parents told me to refrain from writing a column about it for my college paper, I would have questioned their sense of humanity.

The campus protests against the Vietnam War were before my time, but I was well versed in the history of student activism and the role it played in anti-war movements.

We’ve taught our children to speak up when they see injustice. We’ve raised them to be thoughtful and considered in how they express themselves. So why did I now feel anxious about what might appear in their private Instagram stories?

It had a lot to do with the news constantly showing up in my own feeds: "doxxing trucks" driving around college campuses, displaying students’ names and personal information and labeling them as "antisemites"; an eighth grader suspended for allegedly saying "Free Palestine"; job offers rescinded; equating those calling for peace as “pro-Hamas.”

My parental instinct to protect was triggered. This desire was heightened by all the reports I was reading about parents in the war zone who had been powerless to protect their children -- those murdered at a desert rave, those held hostage, those buried under the rubble of bombs.

Our young adult children have respected my wishes. But I’ve wrestled with what it means to stifle one’s voice. When wars are subsidized with billions of American tax dollars, citizens have a responsibility to be educated on whether those funds are being used to fight a just war that adheres to international laws. It’s not an easy task to sift through all the disinformation circulating online, but it is a question for each of us to answer. We have to be exposed to a variety of sources and viewpoints in forming our judgments.

I did not want to discourage our children from being engaged or informed about the world. For insight, I turned to author Devorah Heitner, who recently published “Growing up in Public: Coming of Age in a Digital World.” I’ve followed her thoughtful work on helping children navigate the complexities of growing up online.

“I think the current situation does seem to be especially challenging," she said. "But any time we post -- whether it is about Black Lives Matter, our views on climate change or Me Too, or perspectives on conflicts at home or abroad -- we are in a situation where someone could see and judge.”

That’s true, but students were not getting doxxed, blacklisted, suspended or losing jobs and opportunities for posting on those other issues. This moment is particularly precarious for students.

Granted, social media has never been a good place for nuanced conversation.

“People tend to pile on, engage with a lot of intense outrage or live in their own 'filter bubble,'" said Heitner. She suggested that another way to approach these issues is by learning more about them: reading, going to teach-ins and other events and supporting people who need help. She pointed out that in this particular conflict, there is a longstanding set of conflicting ideas, along with painful and traumatic histories.

“We need to think about what our posts accomplish, as opposed to other actions. What we post doesn’t tend to sway others who may feel entrenched. In-person conversations and thoughtful listening (when possible and safe) can offer a more productive place to grow and to really learn and engage," she said. "Ideally, colleges would offer a facilitated space for learning and conversations with trained facilitators.”

I agree that these kinds of honest, facilitated discussions should be taking place.

But I haven’t even seen this happening among adults. The chilling effect of dissent has silenced any number of thoughtful voices.

As a middle-aged parent, I can understand why.

Just don’t ask me to justify it to the 20-year-old version of myself.

Marcy Bursac knew in her early 20s that she wanted to adopt children one day. A church mission trip to an orphanage in Moldova sparked that desire.

She shared her intention with her future husband, Nathan, when they began dating. To her surprise, he wanted the same route to parenthood.

They got married in 2008, and while they did eventually adopt children, the path was different from the one they had envisioned: The couple adopted a 5-year-old boy and his younger sister from Missouri’s foster care system.

They originally thought private adoptions were the only option. But the high cost, of both domestic and international adoptions, discouraged them. Nathan worked as an educator, and Marcy worked in social services. It wasn’t until they attended an expo at their church a few years later that they realized that children could be adopted from the foster care system. And for the Bursacs, the financial cost of adopting a child from state custody would be more than offset by the federal tax credit for the adoption.

In 2021, more than 113,000 out of 391,000 children in the U.S. foster care system were eligible for adoption. Marcy, who has become a mentor and coach for people wanting to adopt from foster care, documented their journey on a blog and also self-published a guide entitled “The Forgotten Adoption Option.”

She recalls the detailed application questions that forced her and Nathan to consider what type of care they could provide: Could they adopt a child who was blind or in a wheelchair or was pregnant or had suffered sexual abuse? What ages were they open to adopting? How many siblings could they take? Each question required tough conversations.

They took a series of weekly three-hour classes over two and a half months -- required for those wanting to adopt from the system. They participated in a home study to assess their house's readiness for children. Then they began receiving emails about children needing permanent families. They were nearly selected for a sibling pair, who ended up going to another family. When the social worker called Marcy to break the news, Marcy said she was glad they had played a part in helping them find their forever family.

“Then I hung up the phone and cried,” she said.

That same afternoon, an email showed up that would change their lives: They were selected to meet two young children who had already lived in six different homes.

Marcy and Nathan drove five hours across the state to meet the kids. On the drive back home, they decided they would start the process to adopt them.

There were times when the children’s other relatives would talk about taking them, leaving the Bursacs in limbo. Marcy remembers crying over the frustrations and fears she felt during that time.

The process ended up taking 18 months. But in 2015, the siblings finally joined the Bursac family.

In her book, Marcy lists all the firsts their children have experienced with them: riding a bike, swimming underwater, eating a hot fudge sundae, going to Disney, catching a fish. The list of family celebrations is long.

She also honestly describes the challenges of adopting children who have experienced instability, stress and trauma before coming to them. One child has been through years of therapy to help deal with meltdowns and anger. There were food struggles and lessons about appropriate boundaries. They have navigated some unexpected difficult moments, like when their son asked why he couldn’t stay with his biological family.

The journey has made Marcy a tireless advocate for foster care adoption. She’s now written three books, hosts a podcast and created an app to help others through the process. She recently won a $100,000 grant, awarded on “The Kelly Clarkson Show,” to advance the work she is doing.

She advises prospective adoptive parents about the financial support and resources available. In addition to subsidies to offset clothing and food costs, foster kids’ child care costs are covered through age 12. Children adopted from foster care are eligible for state health insurance coverage. Some states, like Texas and Florida, also waive the tuition costs of their public colleges and universities for children adopted from the foster care system.

It’s in the best interest of the state -- and obviously, the children -- to maximize incentives that encourage more people to foster and adopt children in the state’s care.

Children who have suffered abuse or neglect to the extent that their biological parents’ rights have been terminated deserve to experience parental love and care.

Marcy wants more people to consider that they just might be the ones to give -- and receive -- that love.

For more information, check out AdoptUSKids.org.