Sea Cucumbers

            Sea cucumbers are soft, slow moving, innocuous looking  creatures that slightly resemble the salad staple they are named after.  They lack the shark’s sharp teeth, the barracuda’s awesome speed, or the sea turtle’s built-in armor.  Nature didn't take everything away from the lowly sea cucumber, however. When threatened, they have the unique off-putting talent of being able to self mutilate and regurgitate their own internal organs at a predator. 

            Every living thing has a way to defend itself.  In the absence of anything glamorously ferocious, that self defense mechanism will be anything that pushes possible danger away.   Evan crosses a crowded restaurant sometimes sticking his tongue out and making faces at people, much to the shock of other patrons.  People try to communicate with him, and Evan will look at them and sign, “Bad,” with the extra drama of drawing a flat hand across his throat as if to say, “Death to you!”

              In China, and as we made our way across the world, Evan horrified strangers (and me!) on two continents by jumping at them, swinging his fist in the air toward them.  One proper English gentleman harrumphed, “Well, isn't he charming?”  At the time, I didn't think so.  I smiled weakly, and apologized. 

           

            These behaviors continue to be off-putting. Adults and other children who try to make first contact with Evan are rarely greeted with what would conventionally be seen as a polite interaction.   Evan might give a scowl and turn his nose up and away as if to say, “Puh-lease! You haven’t earned the right to confer with the Emperor!”  Or, he launches into his ‘you are bad and die,’ routine. 

            In our early days together, I would want the ground to swallow me up whole.  I saw these behaviors on surface-level as RUDE, RUDE, and RUDE.  I agonized about how to get him to stop.  I would sign to Evan, “Be nice.”  Evan was not the least bit moved. Most small children learn early on to develop pleasing behaviors to attract friends and earn the approval and affection of adults.   I marveled that Evan did not seem to care if people liked him. Not one iota. 

            Then, the light bulb went on.

            Evan did not want people to like him.  Not at first.  Especially not at first.  You see, it is better when you are a sea cucumber, or a 6 year old orphan who can’t communicate with others, to vehemently push others away.  When you don’t know if the people around you are friend or foe, it is best to tip the balance of power in your favor by shocking them a bit and making them wary of you.  Evan is very skilled at this. 

            I once read that people only do things that they perceive provide a ‘payoff’ for them.  I would like to report that after almost two years within the safety of our family and under my careful guidance as a parent; Evan now enters a room, smiles and offers an outstretched hand for a handshake.  However, truthfully, Evan’s behavior in this area hasn't changed all that much.  I have thus far failed to convince Evan that being courteous has its own returns.

             What has changed is my perception of his behavior.  Instead of being appalled and embarrassed, I watch him with some amusement and a heap of admiration. Evan exhibits more confidence and self satisfaction than most adults I know. Evan does not invest a lot of time and effort wanting to please everybody all the time.  He gives himself the upper-hand by being unpredictable.  Then, if he decides he likes you, Evan may grant you the privilege of getting to know the sweet, loving boy he can be.  It’s brilliant, actually. 

            A few nights ago, we walked into Applebees and a gentleman was dining alone at the table in front of the TV that Evan prefers.  Evan ran past the hostess, vigorously tapped the man on the arm, and with a scowl and a fully outstretched arm signed, “GO!”        

            I hurried behind Evan, grabbed his hand, and apologized, explaining, “We usually sit there, but we can sit at the next table.”

             To my surprise, the man offered, “I can move. I just sat down; it’s no big deal.”

             I declined his generous offer since I didn't want Evan thinking he had the power to make adults bow to his wishes and move.

             Then, yesterday at the mall, Evan wanted to sit on one of those coin operated cars that move back and forth in the kiddie section.  An older child was sitting on the vehicle already.  Evan marched up to him; chest and bottom lip stuck out, and made his demanding gesture, “MOVE!”   Before I could intervene, the other child – though older and larger – meekly stood up and vacated his spot. 

            It may seem counter-intuitive in a world where there is a high regard for ‘please and thank you,’ but the more I understand Evan, the less I struggle to change him.  Sure, I do try to teach him manners, and hopefully as he gets older he will develop an appreciation for them as socially beneficial.  In the meantime, Evan has a system that works for him.

            Once again, Evan is my teacher.  I watch him and wonder, “What if we all gave up our compulsive need to people-please?”  Oh, I know that we can’t all run around being rude, but I’m sure everyone can think of times we politely allowed someone to invade our space and later wished we hadn't.  Sometimes, in an effort to become uber- civilized, we quell the very instincts that have allowed our species to survive as long as it has.  As most of you know, Ben is the polar opposite - unfailingly sweet and polite.  Ben is entering (gasp) middle school next year.  I actually worry more about him than I do about Evan.  Ben could use a dose of Sea - Cucumber – Chutzpah. 

            For those of you who worry that Evan will have a warped sense of his own power if this all continues, nature has a way of evening things out.  Yesterday, when we arrived home from the mall, Evan had his comeuppance.  Evan had to use the restroom and couldn't (or wouldn't) wait for me to unlock the door. He stood on the stoop and proceeded to urinate off to the side into the grass.  As luck would have it, his relief was a bumblebee’s agitation.  Every living thing has a way to defend itself.  Evan got stung.  On the lip.  It could have been worse. 

 Much worse.   J