Saturday – Nobody Knows
Oct. 2nd, 2010 09:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
After the haircut and the running of errands, during which Sweet Pea was very good (too good to be true, really; the fact that he doesn’t act up when normal kids do is offset by how much he acts up during the times that normal kids don’t), we went to McDonalds so he could play in the playroom.
We left after he teased a toddler by holding up his Happy Meal toy (a miniature skateboard) enticingly and then jerking it away when the toddler reached for him. The toddler’s mother raced across the room and told Sweet Pea to stay away from her son. I called Sweet Pea over and told him we needed to leave.
During his bath tonight I asked why he did what he did, though I kind of suspect why: he has a rigid set of rules, one of which is that other kids should not take his toys. Toddlers annoy him because they do not follow the rules that older kids know. He entices the toddlers to see if they might follow the rules, and then gets punitive when they don’t.
“Babies don’t know your rules. Don’t show them a toy if you don’t want them to touch it; it’s mean.”
“But what do they think? Do they think the toy is their toy?”
“They think you are giving them the toy, so they reach for it. I want you to stay away from the babies, do you hear me? Don’t tease them. It’s not nice.”
He frowned. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I don’t care. This is the rule now: you don’t show your toys to other kids so you can get mad at them for reaching for them. If you do, we leave. Got it?”
“Okay.” He said it low, under his breath.
I sat on the side of the tub, with my forehead resting in my hands, my fingers clinging to my hair. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Nobody knows,” he said.
“Nobody knows what?”
“Nobody knows what they’re going to do with me. Not even Daddy. He says that, too. Nobody knows.” He shrugged his little shoulders.
I looked down at my son, a skinny little boy as narrow as a willow branch reclining naked in the bathtub. His freshly shown, freshly washed hair dripping from the rinse water, his solemn steel-blue eyes framed by long, dark eyelashes that were wet and stuck together in spikes. It dawned on me that he must hear adults ask this question all the time, and he never hears them answer themselves. His parents, his teachers, his principal, even his grandparents; none of them know what to do with him.
“Right now, let’s get you out of the tub and into your jammies,” I said and smiled at him, perhaps a little sadly, “We’ll figure the rest out later.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
After the haircut and the running of errands, during which Sweet Pea was very good (too good to be true, really; the fact that he doesn’t act up when normal kids do is offset by how much he acts up during the times that normal kids don’t), we went to McDonalds so he could play in the playroom.
We left after he teased a toddler by holding up his Happy Meal toy (a miniature skateboard) enticingly and then jerking it away when the toddler reached for him. The toddler’s mother raced across the room and told Sweet Pea to stay away from her son. I called Sweet Pea over and told him we needed to leave.
During his bath tonight I asked why he did what he did, though I kind of suspect why: he has a rigid set of rules, one of which is that other kids should not take his toys. Toddlers annoy him because they do not follow the rules that older kids know. He entices the toddlers to see if they might follow the rules, and then gets punitive when they don’t.
“Babies don’t know your rules. Don’t show them a toy if you don’t want them to touch it; it’s mean.”
“But what do they think? Do they think the toy is their toy?”
“They think you are giving them the toy, so they reach for it. I want you to stay away from the babies, do you hear me? Don’t tease them. It’s not nice.”
He frowned. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I don’t care. This is the rule now: you don’t show your toys to other kids so you can get mad at them for reaching for them. If you do, we leave. Got it?”
“Okay.” He said it low, under his breath.
I sat on the side of the tub, with my forehead resting in my hands, my fingers clinging to my hair. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Nobody knows,” he said.
“Nobody knows what?”
“Nobody knows what they’re going to do with me. Not even Daddy. He says that, too. Nobody knows.” He shrugged his little shoulders.
I looked down at my son, a skinny little boy as narrow as a willow branch reclining naked in the bathtub. His freshly shown, freshly washed hair dripping from the rinse water, his solemn steel-blue eyes framed by long, dark eyelashes that were wet and stuck together in spikes. It dawned on me that he must hear adults ask this question all the time, and he never hears them answer themselves. His parents, his teachers, his principal, even his grandparents; none of them know what to do with him.
“Right now, let’s get you out of the tub and into your jammies,” I said and smiled at him, perhaps a little sadly, “We’ll figure the rest out later.”
