So I had an epiphany. Jerry McGuire style. So much so, that this morning I scratched my head and wondered if it was worth writing about at all. While last night, it took all I had not to get True out of bed to talk to him. I’m glad I didn’t, but I do, after all, still think it’s worth writing about. I also think that True & I’s conversation this morning was just right.
True is three (…and 5 months{almost}). Since as early as I can remember in his life, I have been scaring him about death. Not that I’ve realized it; that’s where the epiphany comes in. It probably first started with cars; getting hit by cars. He started walking when he was 10 months old. The summer to follow was anything but relaxing for me. Why don’t more playgrounds have fences? True doesn’t seem to have an internal boundary sensor like some kids do. Some kids don’t like Mom out of sight, and some don’t like her out of reach. True’s fine with both. He seems to care more about me being around now than he did when he was an infant or toddler. He breastfed, but other than that, everything was more interesting than where I was. So back to cars, “Don’t go in the street or you’ll get squashed like a bug!” I would scold constantly. The squishing of bugs came naturally to him, so I would explain that it wasn’t nice and that he was “killing them- dead.” Since he seemed to grasp the idea (not that it stopped him) I used it to refer to getting hit by a car. We would even stop to check out road kill on walks (a certain snake was pretty impressionable for him at age 2). I didn’t want to hide it from him. I wanted him to see the guts squashed out, and eyes protruding from their sockets if we were lucky enough to come across it. Then I wanted him to imagine himself in their place. Squashed like a bug. Oh-h-h yeah, that’s me, no joking and it was constant. I wanted to instill fear into this little being that had none. I wanted to pass on my fear to him. I wanted desperately for him to understand how crushed I would be if something happened to him. Just how un-okay I would be.
I’m taking a trip to Colombia. We are leaving in about a week. I’m dropping True off with my Mom & Dad, and then flying with Elle West to Baltimore where I will meet my Father-in-law so that we can fly Internationally together. So, I’m going, and taking Elle West with me. I’ve never been there and I don’t speak Spanish. My husband isn’t coming along either. When I told my Father-in-law that I wanted to go with him (quite spontaneously over the phone about 6 weeks ago) he was thrilled, and we started making plans right away. My excitement was not immediate as I didn’t have my husbands blessing yet. What would he think? How would he feel about me taking Elle? Would money be an issue? I didn’t talk to him until the following night so that I’d have at least one day to dream about it in the event the trip wasn’t going to materialize. We’ve got to be on the same page after all. I was flushed with relief to know that we were. Okay next, my Mom. I was pretty sure that she would be less than thrilled about all but having True for two weeks. When I casually popped it into a conversation with her a few days later she controlled herself nicely with a contemplating, “Ohhhh”. When I followed with that I was taking Elle with me, she gasped.
My Mom & I’s relationship has it’s share of challenges like everyone else’s relationship with their Mom. She isn’t always the first person, or the last that I want to talk to. But sometimes she is, and sometimes, she’s the only person that I want to talk to.
Lately, since planning my trip to Colombia, I’ve been extra sensitive to my Mom repeating things like, “It’s just so different in another country…” Really anything she says referring to mine & Elle’s safety seems to annoy me as if she has no right to worry. It’s not like I don’t want to hear what she has to say or about her concerns, it’s just that I don’t want to hear them more than once and especially not more than twice in the same conversation. When I had first told her about the trip, I responded to one of her fear laced comments with, “Yeah, but I can’t live my life like that.” Meaning that it wasn’t okay for me to be scared and stay home- not that her comment even suggested as much. The thing is this, I grew up squatting not to touch public toilet seats, Cloroxing fruit & vegetables and wearing helmets; I don’t need any help worrying about germs, let alone safety in a foreign country of which I’ve never visited! Am I blaming her for my fears? No. I just don’t need the person I look to for safety reaffirming them. The epiphany? I’m no different than my Mom, or any Mom; I love my kids.
So the lessons started with cars which led to choking, drowning, electrocution, poisonous frogs & snakes (African frogs… just in case we happen to be there soon or he comes across one here), strangers, and most recently, being strangled by my apron ribbon. All lessons ending of course, with a certain someone’s most certain death. He’s still three by the way.
While True was spinning in circles beneath my apron ribbon last night, and laughing as it wrapped around his neck, I quickly stomped over to demonstrate the dangers of his little game. I started by explaining that if it wrapped over itself and he tripped somehow and I was NOT standing right there then he would be hanging which would cut off his air supply and he would be strangled- dead. I then said, “Here, let me show you.” He shook his head no and backed away from me and the apron. Well, am I proud to say that there is a sense of fear instilled into this little being now? Selfishly, yes. But what might his fears keep him from doing? My hope, something that kills him. Reality? We are all going to die, and do I want him to be worried about it? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Could I possibly ever cover all of the dangers that might lead to his death? Nope, and why waste the time. There is a difference between teaching him to pay attention and what the consequences of his actions might be, and creating a mental handicap. All of this struck me like a bolt of lightening after I put him to bed. Look at me. LOOK-AT-ME! Look at me. And I’m annoyed with my Mom for verbalizing, in the slightest, some her fears about my travelling? She hasn’t mentioned death once!! Thank goodness!
If thoughts become things, then I’m going to picture True growing old & healthy and dying peacefully in his sleep at 110; not being squashed, choked, drowned, electrocuted, poisoned, kidnapped, strangled or anything else horrifying or unpleasant. Injuries may happen, but he’ll heal. If he doesn’t, then I will and it will be part of a bigger plan. Our life is an adventure to be excited about. We need to explore and not take things too seriously. My plan is to start teaching True those lessons. I’ve got two more years left in laying his foundation and I won’t use fear.
Our conversation this morning:
“Hey True, I want to talk to you for a minute. You know how sometimes I scare you about dying, like by being choked.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well, I’m sorry and I’m not going to do that anymore. I don’t want you to be afraid of anything. There isn’t really anything worth being afraid of. I just want you to be smart and make good decisions. I don’t want you to get hurt because I love you, but you don’t need to worry. You are smart already. Okay?”
“Okay. And and I won’t put anything dangerous around my neck and I’m gonna tell Dad.”
“Your going to tell Dad not to put anything around his neck?”
“Yeah. So he doesn’t choke.”
“Okay, that sounds good True.”
So, the cycle continues! Awe well, I’ve done what I’ve done. But, I’m hoping with these last three years under his belt, and with the next two lived a bit more care free, True will have the sense not to run blind folded. Maybe though, he won’t be afraid to run.
As for my Mom, she loves me. I love True and True loves his Dad.
Thinking wonderful, JL
