There’s this one-month-and-one-day-from-age-six little boy who lives in my house. He’s a gas. He’s my son. He’s also my stars…
He made a comment a few months back that had me brimming with pride. [Bear with YerOafishDiarist as this is currently salient.]
At the end of all my frustrated attempts to get him to do what he was supposed to at the time? (DaSauce doesn’t even remember the context…) All the way down to the end of our list? Music taken away for the following day? Check! Books? Yep. Board or videogames the coming weekend? Ditto. TEEVEE (via DaTiVo) with Bill Nye or Zoom or Discovery Kids? Gone. TimeOuts? Happened. And on.
Here comes the moment of pride….
DaKiddo said to his dad, “I wish you weren’t my father right now.”
Those of you who aren’t parents or don’t view the whole-parenting-with-Gonzo-Stylee-Thing as a SauceGuy would, are currently scratching yer, ahem, heads at the moment, yes?
Well. It was all I could do not to burst out with peels of joy-filled laughter that he had stood his ground and made the statement above. It showed a depth of independence that YerSauce has been trying to instill… Backbone, and a lot of bravery for a little boy to do what was right and that was his Willingness To Be Honest about what he was feeling and speak his mind then and there. Many parents would have found this upsetting. YerResidentIdiot found it ideal.
So, I (with all the solemn parent-like voice I could muster) noted that I was “sure that he was feeling that then and there… and thank you for being honest. And for being true about your frustration.” Then I explained that there were times that we could love someone with all our heart and not like them much in-the-timeframe. And that I thought that might be what he felt at that moment. And that I agreed with him, as I wasn’t liking him very much then and there—but loved the heck out of him. So, I had to do what I was doing and get his attention, no-matter-what? Otherwise, he’d be a lesser fellow. And that I did want to be his pal all the time, but sometimes I didn’t like having to be his dad either. Because times like this were a pain.
Skip forward to yesterday.
A little boy looked up at me with love and said, “I’m so very sorry I told you back in the whiles that I wished you weren’t my dad, dad.”
I said, “S’okay, little pal. Do you remember what I told you about that?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t liking you then because I was mad.”
“And you knew that was OK, right little buddy?”
“I did, dad.”
“So why are you apologizing tonight, BestBoy?”
“Cuz, I know that I’ll NEVER really wish you weren’t my dad, but I know that I’ll wish you were dumber or less ‘petative or wouldn’t do the stick-to-it-ness quite so hard, dad. And I like you ‘most all the time. And you’re going to be mad, so here.”
And he handed me the book he was hiding in his bed.
And then I told him I loved him, thanked him for being honest, and gave him a goodnight.