But this one, I could not deny. The Dude was playing with friends at his grandparents' neighbours two Sundays back. I was there as well, providing some vigilance to relieve the neighbour the burden of tending to my son in addition to her own two sons. We were chatting about kids, summer travel plans and such when Gabriel let out an impatient yell that immediately clanged on my conscience. That was me, clearly something he picked up from me and my go-to move when patience has worn thin or frankly I'm too lazy for a mindful, calmer approach. I immediately (and calmly and gently, I can add) called him over. I was not preoccupied with appearances and what this younger mother might think.
Gabriel sat on my knee thoughtfully and was prepared to listen. There was something about his surrender or openness at that moment that reminded me of a heart-to-heart we had a few weeks before. We sat on the sofa and in the course of the conversation I assured him that I would always be looking out for him and that making sure he was happy and safe. In response he replied, "I never knew that," and there was a sense that it was a genre of father-son conversation that we would be able to have regularly and that there was an honest give and take.
This time around though, I spoke straight up about how he was picking up a bad habit from me - the yell. I told him that it was something I learned and that I was trying to unlearn it and that I needed him to unlearn it before it became a habit. I have been conscious of my tendency for a long time and when I catch myself, I can manage to alter my tone or volume after a tumultuous start to make a change that only a sensitive ear like that of a novelist or a child can pick up on. On this occasion, though, with him on my knee and quiet with a sense of the moment, but it his guilt or mine. Perhaps in his case, there was the realization that the yelling thing did not render any benefits. For that moment, I had the feeling that I was getting through to him and making a pact that the two of us could hold each other to.
I did not give him much opportunity to speak on this occasion and I did not ask him to apologize to his friends. If anything I should have apologized to them, but there was enough self-flagellation for the moment without puzzling two pre-schoolers with this bout of self-awareness.
For the past ten days I've managed to rein in the volume and find that extra bit of patience when I'm being tested. There was even a little revelation from Alice Munro's The View From Castle Rock where she talked about a relationship between parent and son that underlined the fact that being overprotective of your child (guilty as charged) ultimately prompts the kid to test your limits rather than his own and come to some discovery of self-regulation as limits are tested independently. (If that revelation has reached all of her readers, she deserves another Nobel to go with her one for Literature.)
So, I've dialled back the over-protective, over-corrective impulses. When he scampered off recklessly from a crosswalk (and me) on Monday and landed in a heap after tripping on his feet, I just hoisted him up and comforted him until the tears ended. I held on and let the storm pass and we were both assured that he would live. Tonight, with his feet brown with dirt from an afternoon on the playground and him in no mood for a bath or shower (on consecutive days?!?!) I found the compromise of a ticklish footwash in the sink as he sat on the vanity counter. The novelty amused him and got the job done without undue battle over territory.
The yell, hopefully, will see its decline and disappearance. I'll be the tough nut to crack since it is a go-to in times of stress. It may not be the most reasonable expectation, it is a goal - especially when the dialogue has been already so valuable and illuminating with Gabriel when he's barely 5 1/2.
Onward.
