This afternoon, as I was taking out the trash, I thought to myself, “I should check the mail.” So I rounded the corner of my house, strolled down the driveway, and reached out to open the mailbox.

As I did, another thought occurred: “If any of my neighbors see me right now, they’re going to think I’m ridiculous.” You see, today is Sunday, and the mail doesn’t run on Sundays. Why would anyone be checking the mail today?

It’s a long story.

My son Noah, who will turn two in August, loves mail. I mean, he really loves mail. When I receive a piece of junk mail, I hand it to him, and he thinks I’ve just given him an awesome gift. “Mail!” he exclaims as he proudly carries his envelope around the house. He keeps it with him for hours before it inevitably gets forgotten and subsequently thrown out after he goes to bed.

Checking the mail when Noah’s around is a bit of a gamble because he gets very emotionally invested. If he sees me open the mailbox, he expects not only that there will be something in it, but that there will be something it for him. If the day’s mail only contains important items that I have to keep, or – more likely – if there isn’t any mail in the box at all, my son becomes quite disappointed. And he’s not shy about letting me know when he’s displeased.

And so, I’ve learned to only check the mail under certain circumstances – namely, when my son is otherwise occupied. This way, I minimize the risk of him getting upset while still maintaining the potential upside of gifting him my junk mail whenever possible. It’s a win-win. (That is, unless you look at it from an environmental perspective; why do we even have paper mail anymore?)

Which is how I found myself checking the mail on a Sunday afternoon. Noah was taking a nap, and it had been a few days since I’d had a chance to get out there, so I took advantage of the opportunity when it arose. Alas, the mailbox was empty. No junk mail treasures to share this particular Sunday.

A good deal of successfully relating to other people is learning how they tick and trying to be respectful of it. Parenting a toddler pushes this notion to the extreme – other triggers I avoid include dusting and uttering the word “outside” unless my shoes are already on – but there’s something special about caring for someone deeply enough to anticipate and accommodate their needs. It’s something I’m working to get better at each day. May we all know others so well and be known so well ourselves by someone else.