Red Face and the White Flag

I spent 6 idyllic years as the Uber Parent.  Complete strangers would cross the room in a restaurant or retail establishment and say, “Your son is so well behaved. I just had to come over and tell you that.”    I would beam with pride. I knew I had very little to do with it. To be fair, this was a little like moving into a beautifully landscaped house and posing outside with pruning shears.

Ben’s good temperament is legendary. Never a tantrum.  Almost never whines. Does what I ask of him 95% of the time – the first time I ask.  When people would offer praise, I would sometimes say, “Oh no, it’s not me; he came to me that way. He’s just a great kid.”  But this would trigger the reinforcement compliment: “Parenting must have something to do with it, too.”  Well, who was I to question their sound judgment? 

Recently, I brought Ben and Evan to the movies.  At the entrance to the theater there are arcade style games.  When the movie ended, Evan ran from me all the way to the games.  I ran behind him.  Ben ran behind me.  Evan tucked himself behind the video game to hide.  I caught a glimpse just as the last sliver of Evan disappeared, so I pulled him out and signed to him, “Don’t run from me!”  Evan signed back, “Sorry,” which is his favorite sign lately.  He thinks it is just like a magic eraser that grants you a do-over when adults are upset with you. 

I looked up and a handsome man in my age group was looking at me, amused.  I tried to wipe the frazzled look from my face and smile. 

“I wondered if anyone was going to find him back there,” he offered.   I explained to him that I am quite adept at chasing him and it is Evan’s way of being funny.  The boys played on the games (just the preview screens since I refuse to drop a quarter in them).  I chatted with the man. He was waiting for his teen children to emerge from a movie. 

Evan spied a teenage girl dancing on one of those electronic match-the-moves games.  He decided she needed a dance partner and darted onto the platform with her.  I ran over, snatched Evan off and decided it was time to go.  Then the fun began. 

Evan did not want to go. He ran from me and kept jumping on and off different machines.  Poor Ben thought, “If he’s still playing, I’m going to play.”  While chasing Evan like a greased pig, I was calling back to Ben, “Don’t play – If you do it, he will think he can, too.”  Ben looked dismayed.  I looked like an idiot.  The nice man got a glazed, faraway look and decided to move several feet out of the arcade area to wait for his children. 

I finally got a grip on Evan and started out of the theater.  I turned to say, “Have a good evening,” to the gentleman in a feeble attempt to restore some appearance that everything was normal and I had this under control.  Evan broke away from me and darted out the door. I ran after him, uselessly shouting, “Evan!”  Ben trailed after us with a pained look on his face. 

Because the cosmos could see that I still had a remnant of dignity left, we ran right past an acquaintance, who upon seeing my predicament, felt necessary to offer: “Wow, you really have your hands full!” 

So that’s it.  I have traded spontaneous accolades for wonderful parenting and a perfect child for, “You really have your hands full!”  This is always accompanied by a head shake and faint, but still perceptible recoil – as if the condition might be contagious. 

I have adjusted to this.  I have waved the white flag.  I have resigned myself to the reality that for the next couple of years I will be publically embarrassed on a regular basis.  People will look on with a mixture of pity and judgment.  I will take this as karmic retribution for every time I have observed another parent with an out of control child and smugly thought, “They need to get it together.”  It’s ok.  I can take it.

In reality, Evan’s behavior has improved greatly. He came home last week with a happy face on his behavior chart every day – an enormous accomplishment.  The child who is running around the house in his underwear right now - carrying a blanket and pretending to be Dracula - bears little resemblance to the surly stranger I brought back from China about 3 months ago. 

Three months ago, we went toe-to-toe about everything.  He is still stubborn, but there are far fewer battles.   Three months ago, when I would reprimand Evan, he would glare at me like a hardened teenager.  Now, Evan gets teary eyed and signs, “Sorry.” 

Perhaps the biggest difference I have noticed lately is his laughter.  It is hard to put into words the change that I have noticed.  In our first weeks together, Evan rarely laughed.  Oh, he would laugh at people.  He would misbehave and then pose like a superhero, hands on hips, and give a canned laugh.  But now, Evan laughs.  He squeals, he giggles, his laughter bubbles up and spills over the top like a 6 year old's  ought to.  His face lights up. This, to me, is worth every red-faced moment I can endure. 

Rumble in the Jungle (Gym) -well, almost!

We were leaving the grocery store about a week ago and Evan was riding in the buggy –(that’s a shopping cart to my Northern friends.)   Somehow, when we arrived at the car, he had lost one flip flop.  I knew it had to be between the car and the entrance of the store, so I locked both boys in the car and went back to retrieve it.

As I returned to the car, in a matter of seconds, this is what I witnessed:

Evan reached up to turn the dome light on.

Ben reached up to turn it off. 

Evan turned it on.

Ben turned it off.  (Ben knows this wears the battery down. Being the ever-conscientious worry-wart kid that he is, Ben considered this a mission of the utmost importance.)

Evan pushed at Ben.  Ben pushed at Evan.

Evan balled up his fist and socked Ben square in the eye. 

Needless to say, Evan was punished. Ben received an icepack.  This little interaction made me aware of

 #1. Evan still has a long way to go in developing social skills. and

 #2. The kid throws a punch like a professional boxer.  He has definitely done this before.

All of this was fresh in my mind when we visited beautiful Forsyth Park last weekend.  There were many children playing and Ben and Evan ran joyfully to the playground equipment.  I hovered, as I usually do, to make sure Evan is “playing nice.” 

Evan brought a new toy, a plastic action-figure/robot with him.  He climbed to the top platform from which all slides descended.   Several kids were up there, going up and sliding down.  Evan sat at the top of a slide, toy in hand.

 An older child, with curly hair and a very annoying (yes, I said it!) personality, reached over to Evan and tried to snatch the toy from him.  With manners that conveyed a “No one ever says no to me” mentality, the child simultaneously asked/demanded, “Hey, can I play with that?”   I watched with mixed fascination and trepidation.  He had no idea he was messing with the Evanator!

Evan yanked his toy back and waved his scolding finger at the child imitating angry speech noises. 

I walked over and said, “He can’t hear what you’re asking him.  He's deaf.”

Annoying boy: “Well, how do you say it in Spanish?”

Me:  “It won’t matter what language you ask him in, HE CAN’T HEAR YOU.” 

A/B: “Well, how do you talk to him, then?  I want to play with that.” 

(Obviously, the possibility that he would not get to play with the toy was not even in his realm of thought.)

Me: (thinking of the Evanator): “I think it’s better for you if you just forget that you ever saw that toy and keep it moving.”

Naturally, the A/B was bewildered, but this seemed to be the end of it.  A little while later, Evan asked me to hold his toy.  The A/B witnessed this and then asked me if he could play with it.   I told him that Evan had just gotten the toy recently and he wasn’t interested in sharing right now. 

I breathed a sigh of relief thinking we had avoided a social “faux pas.” I was proud of Evan that he hadn’t resorted to physical aggression.  PC or not, I couldn’t help but think that A/B was going to find himself perilously close to danger many more times in his youth unless he developed better social skills.

 Now that the toy was “off the table” I was pretty sure this kid would lose interest in Evan. I was wrong. 

Evan was happily darting up and down the ramps and slides, making his warrior cries.  You would think witnessing this force of nature would be enough to deter anyone from messing with him.  Most kids get out of the way when they see Evan coming. But not that kid.

 Evan had paused on a walkway when - like a moth to a flame - A/B walks up to Evan again.  I watched in amazement as the boy stood in front of Evan and started SWATTING Evan on the chest REPEATEDLY saying over and over: “Tag, you’re it. Tag you’re it. Tag you’re it. Tag you’re it.”

 Evan stared at him in total amazement.  One eyebrow arched up.  The famous Evanator sneer came across his face.  I thought, “Here it comes.”   I held my breath.  I didn’t move to stop him.  Part of me – that primal mother-bear part of me – wanted to see the winds of karma do its thing. 

Evan released a barrage of what I’m sure were not very nice words in this boy’s face.  But Evan did not raise a hand.   I was proud of him, (and not so proud of myself!)  I told the boy again, “He can’t understand what you are saying.”  The child seemed annoyed and ran off.   Evan went about his business.  A short while later, I saw Evan chasing Annoying Boy through the ramps and slapping him on the back.  The A/B was yelling, “Hey, leave me alone!  Leave me alone!!” 

“That’s my boy!”  I laughed to myself.  The Evanator always wins J