I’m stretching the boundaries of this recurring feature, because what followed with Rory and I was not actually an argument. In fact, it made me chuckle at the time, partially because I knew it was blog post fodder, but also because writing about these occurrences has (slightly) helped me recognize them for the absurdity they are, and keep me from engaging.
For those who don’t recall, I detailed in part 1, and then in part 2, how seemingly innocuous things I say, or that Rory says escalate into us bickering. Mostly I started this because it amuses me to write about the absurdity, but it also proves illustrative. I have genuine guilt that I often write about Declan with emotion and pathos, yet the things written about Rory seem to revolve around the ways he irritates me. Not always, but often, that is the pattern. Preamble aside, let’s get to the conflict!
With the help of a very helpful neighbor or more appropriately unofficial big brother, I took Rory and Declan for a short hike on the Fourth of July. The hike itself was not particularly tough — the appeal was hiking to a portion of a river where we could wade out and swim, and where our neighbor and possibly Rory could jump off some rocks into the water. Which they did
The boys had fun, and it all worked out much better than I expected when I broached the idea of the hike. After wrapping up swimming and shortly after beginning the fairly brief hike back to the car, Rory and I had the following exchange.
“Daddy, do you think I can do this whole hike back without complaining?”
“I don’t know, but it would be great if you did.”
“No really, do you think I can do it without complaining?”
“Yes, I do.”
At this point he paused briefly before replying, “well now I don’t want to do it.”
As stated above this didn’t turn into an argument. I ignored his little aside, irritating as it was, and for the record, he did finish the rest of the hike without the complaining. But there was something in his response that resonated — even if he probably was just joking — that hit to the core of my frequent donnybrooks with my youngest son. There are many occasions where it seems he goes out of his way to annoy, antagonize, refuse, obfuscate, rebut, or argue in an effort to simply annoy me.
This is a real head versus heart situation. In my head, I know that’s not what he’s doing, that there are real emotion and feelings at work here. But there are many times when it certainly feels like he’s being obstinate because of the joy he gets from not doing what I ask. And to hear him articulate this fact so clearly, even if it was mostly in jest, was revealing. Also serves as a helpful reminder that engaging and letting these be true “genesis of an argument” will not serve to accomplish much.
As if further proof was required, later in the holiday weekend Rory made a point to again work very hard to provoke a response. The parents of young children among you are probably well aware of the movement to try and push for more independence and free play and less scheduled activity for kids (and a notable decrease in screen time). Caryn and I have worked to increase that level of independence with Rory, to very little success. It’s not through lack of effort on our part, but he has been very reluctant to venture out on his own, and struggles to entertain himself unless there is technology involved.
In a discussion with one of my smart doctor friends, she pointed out that attributes parents sometimes think are born in kids are actually learned. We often bemoan a lack of patience in kids, while failing to see that they now live in an on-demand world that rarely requires them to be patient. My friend pointed out these skills aren’t born, they are taught.
In that vein, I launched an independence project with Rory this summer (to, admittedly, minimal success thus far). Very simply the idea is that he earns small rewards by playing by himself for increasing increments of time.
Long story not that short, this past Saturday, his brother was with one of his helpers, and I asked him to earn a new sticker by playing by himself for 15 minutes. In this case, he complained that he didn’t know how to occupy himself, and I (hopefully patiently) pointed out he has an entire room full of toys, books and plenty of other amusements. Or he was free to sit on the couch and stare out the window, as long as he did it for 15 minutes by himself.
After begrudgingly acquiescing, he located the small bin that holds a number of small musical items. In what I deemed a direct attempt to provoke a response from me, he spent nearly the entirety of his 15 minutes, blowing as hard, and loud as he could on a recorder and duck call (don’t ask) he found in that bin. It was excruciating. But in that moment, I was certainly not going to surrender to his tactics. Neither one of us backed down, he made it 15 minutes, earned a sticker, and the world kept turning.
This is probably one of those situations where as I write, and analyze, that the reason Rory and I find ourselves at odds is that we are more similar than I’m prepared to accept. There were certainly times in my life, though probably more in my teenage years, that I might have been described as a stubborn smart ass by those around me. For better or worse (hopefully for better) Rory will grow up in a world with my oddities influencing him. Just the other day, in a bit of exasperation, Rory pointed out — correctly — that I’m pretty weird. I conceded he was correct, and apologized for the fact that he necessarily would spend his entire life with a dad who is pretty strange. That is his cross to bear, while mine is that I’m raising a son seemingly intent on provoking irritation.
Honestly, though in the moments it feels very real, I probably play up the degree to which he drives me crazy as a tool to provide sweet, sweet blog content. And because I do think it’s genuinely funny to consider in-depth the things he says to me in a fit of pique. Hopefully you all agree.