My kid had a shitty day yesterday.
Let's call him J. J had two things happen to him that, eventually, happen to everyone. Things so clichéd, they're barely worthy of a sitcom plot (with apologies to fans of shows like Two and a Half Men, Whitney, or whatever that obnoxious Jim Belushi one was).
In the morning, he was play-fighting with another boy in his class. They were really just playfully swinging their backpacks at each other. Anyway, the other kid turned at the wrong time and got smacked in the face. I make no excuses here: this is why we don't swing backpacks at other people, because shit happens. So of course, when this particular shit happened, J's seen as the aggressor, and he was punished. It's shitty when that happens, and it's especially shitty when there isn't much of a lesson to take away. Maybe something like "think carefully before engaging in an activity where, if something beyond your control goes wrong, the punishment probably won't fit the crime."
After lunch, he's still not in a great mood. He goes to play with his two best friends, and they've decided to exclude him a little bit. Now, I'll be honest here - J tends to lose his shit when he's not the ringleader. By his own admission, the kids he likes best are the kids who do what he wants them to do. This is not good, but he'll grow out of it. I do some course-control, obviously, but I'm not reading him self-help books before bed or anything, nor do I plan to. Anyway these two friends, it sounds like they made a bit of a game out of refusing to do anything J wanted to do, and they'd just sneak off by themselves. Probably giggling at the power rush, because (a) they're kids and (b) they're humans. Humans are jerks a lot of the time, and kid-humans don't have the skills to mask their jerkiness yet.
Later, at the dinner table, J gets to this point in his story, and he's pretty upset. Now, like I said, this scenario has played out a million times before, so it's easy to dismiss. But think back to the last time it happened to you. It hurts. It hurts a lot. It hurts at age 5, it still hurts at 34, and I don't imagine I'll like it any better when I'm 80 and somebody else's grandpa doesn't want me on his canasta team (does canasta have teams? I have no idea. But I have 47 years to learn). So I see J hurting, and I empathize. I tell him it's happened to me, and that it made me really sad. I said I was sure they still liked him, they just wanted to be by themselves for a while. He should try to find out what they want to play, and see if they'll let him join. If not, or if they're not nice about it, he can find out what some other kids might like to play.
"I did that," he tells me. "I went up to Ellie and I made this really loud noise like BRZRZBRBZRBRAP! She used to laugh when I did that, but now she doesn't anymore, and I don't know why." Remembering this made him even more sad.
And here's where I get to the part of the story where I have a point, and some useful thoughts. And what I told my kid was something like what follows, but adapted for five year-olds.
If someone used to laugh at your jokes, and they don't anymore, it can feel like they don't like you anymore. This is because, if you're the kind of person who gets called "clever" and "funny" from a very early age (like I was, and like J is), you start to think your jokes are part of your persona. The jokes become part of your self-image. You start to see your role as that of the entertainer. And if your jokes aren't working, then you're not entertaining, and then you're failing as a person.
It doesn't take a very big step away from the situation to see that this isn't the case, but in the moment, it sure feels like it. If you're a funny guy because you tell funny jokes, well then it follows logically that if you tell a lame joke, you're a lame guy. If the reaction to your joke is that it's obnoxious, you feel like you're obnoxious. But here's the thing: you are not your jokes. If the people who used to like your jokes don't like them anymore, it doesn't mean they don't like you. Maybe they want to hear different things, or maybe they just want you to shut up and listen to them for a while. And if you're a good friend, you'll pay attention to what they want. You don't have to do everything they want, because then you're a sheep. But if a friend, a spouse, a co-worker, or a family member is telling you, through one form of communication or another, that what used to work for them isn't working anymore, you need to respect that. And if you can't control yourself, and you absolutely need to be that character you're locked into, go do it in front of someone else for a while. Maybe a therapist.
Try, just as an experiment, not to be the character you've invented. Get really quiet, observe the usual impulses without acting on them, and see what else comes up. Got a funny joke? Write it down, and maybe publish a joke book someday (or at least start a twitter account). Got something mean and spiteful to say? Write that down, and then throw it away.
See who you are when you're not trying so damn hard to be yourself.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
It's February! But you knew that.
Howdy, blogosphere.
So, my laptop died this week. A 2007 Macbook Pro. The trackpad and keyboard stopped responding. The internet told me to press down on the orange cable under the battery, but although that's worked in the past, this time it accomplished nothing.
Luckily, the messiah-geniuses at the Apple store resurrected it for the low low price of $60. So that beats buying a new laptop. Seems to be working pretty well so far.
I dropped the stats course I'd been taking. Too much stress. My mind needs time to absorb heavy math concepts, and it just was not sinking in. Some other time. I have a little bit of anxiety about this, especially in terms of how it delays my scholastic plans. But it had to be done, I was not in a good space!
At the end of next week, my hours at work decrease as a 4-month project comes to an end. I'm looking forward to having more free time. A lot of that time will be put toward our impending move, but at least some of it will go towards making some art, and doing other things that will start to reverse the effects of stress. Like tonight - I finally just went out to a coffee house and read a book. I must be getting old, because it was awesome.
I feel like I don't have anything especially witty to say, and to be honest, I don't really care. I feel calm for the first time in a while. Which doesn't translate to great blog posts, but I'm okay with that. I seriously doubt that's how I'll measure my life when I get to the end... and if that's how we do things by then, well, it might just be the right time to get off the ride anyway.
My kid's new favorite food is kale stems. I've always tried to feed him healthy food, and now that he's 5, his favorite things to eat are raw tofu, cucumber, soy milk, sushi salmon, and now kale stems. There've been times when I've been busy or stressed out, and turned to the "lazy parent" standbys of KD, frozen pizza, and chef boy-ar-dee, but this little guy wants nothing to do with them. And I have to admit that for a long time, until very recently, I had some guilt about not being one of those amazing parents who spend hours (or so I imagine) making healthy food look fun by dressing it in exciting colours and shapes. I don't think I could do that if I tried. But here's the thing: I've been blessed with a kid who doesn't need or even want that shit. He wants a bowl of raw tofu cubes with some soy sauce drizzled on it. He wants me not to throw out the kale stems when I'm frying up the leaves for myself, so that he can chew on 'em like they're twizzlers. So you know what? Okay. Okay! It's taken me a long time to figure out, but back when I was an SAHD, I made an effort to give him a healthy diet, and do you know what I get to do now? I get to claim my reward. So while other parents can beg and plead and bribe their kids into eating just one bite of vegetable ("come on, Timmy, one bite and then you can have this donut while we watch cartoons and I massage your feet"), while they're busting their butts trying to mold vegetables into the image of Dora the Explorer, I can toss my kid the healthiest stuff I can think of, and he'll thank me for it and ask for more. I don't know how long this is going to last, but mark my words: I am going to ride this thing out. I am going to milk this thing for all it's worth, and when, one day, a pretty girl with a pop tart tells him "why do you like that weird stuff?" and it all comes crashing down, Garden of Eden-style, I am going to take it in stride. And maybe send her a 24-pack of Coke so that her teeth rot and she holds less influence over my boy. No, I probably won't do that. Probably.
Oh hey, guess what? The US Census Board classifies dads who look after kids as "child care". So when you see statistics come out of the US referring to the number of kids in child care? Some of those kids are being raised by (shudder) their own fathers. Can you imagine? Anyway, that rant will be the subject of an upcoming blog post. Plan on skipping it if you're a sexist cave-dweller who's recently been unfrozen, unless you enjoy learning about the advances society's supposedly made since you took a nap in a glacier.
Okay, that's it. Here's my traditional promise to post more often, which will probably not be honoured.
So, my laptop died this week. A 2007 Macbook Pro. The trackpad and keyboard stopped responding. The internet told me to press down on the orange cable under the battery, but although that's worked in the past, this time it accomplished nothing.
Luckily, the messiah-geniuses at the Apple store resurrected it for the low low price of $60. So that beats buying a new laptop. Seems to be working pretty well so far.
I dropped the stats course I'd been taking. Too much stress. My mind needs time to absorb heavy math concepts, and it just was not sinking in. Some other time. I have a little bit of anxiety about this, especially in terms of how it delays my scholastic plans. But it had to be done, I was not in a good space!
At the end of next week, my hours at work decrease as a 4-month project comes to an end. I'm looking forward to having more free time. A lot of that time will be put toward our impending move, but at least some of it will go towards making some art, and doing other things that will start to reverse the effects of stress. Like tonight - I finally just went out to a coffee house and read a book. I must be getting old, because it was awesome.
I feel like I don't have anything especially witty to say, and to be honest, I don't really care. I feel calm for the first time in a while. Which doesn't translate to great blog posts, but I'm okay with that. I seriously doubt that's how I'll measure my life when I get to the end... and if that's how we do things by then, well, it might just be the right time to get off the ride anyway.
My kid's new favorite food is kale stems. I've always tried to feed him healthy food, and now that he's 5, his favorite things to eat are raw tofu, cucumber, soy milk, sushi salmon, and now kale stems. There've been times when I've been busy or stressed out, and turned to the "lazy parent" standbys of KD, frozen pizza, and chef boy-ar-dee, but this little guy wants nothing to do with them. And I have to admit that for a long time, until very recently, I had some guilt about not being one of those amazing parents who spend hours (or so I imagine) making healthy food look fun by dressing it in exciting colours and shapes. I don't think I could do that if I tried. But here's the thing: I've been blessed with a kid who doesn't need or even want that shit. He wants a bowl of raw tofu cubes with some soy sauce drizzled on it. He wants me not to throw out the kale stems when I'm frying up the leaves for myself, so that he can chew on 'em like they're twizzlers. So you know what? Okay. Okay! It's taken me a long time to figure out, but back when I was an SAHD, I made an effort to give him a healthy diet, and do you know what I get to do now? I get to claim my reward. So while other parents can beg and plead and bribe their kids into eating just one bite of vegetable ("come on, Timmy, one bite and then you can have this donut while we watch cartoons and I massage your feet"), while they're busting their butts trying to mold vegetables into the image of Dora the Explorer, I can toss my kid the healthiest stuff I can think of, and he'll thank me for it and ask for more. I don't know how long this is going to last, but mark my words: I am going to ride this thing out. I am going to milk this thing for all it's worth, and when, one day, a pretty girl with a pop tart tells him "why do you like that weird stuff?" and it all comes crashing down, Garden of Eden-style, I am going to take it in stride. And maybe send her a 24-pack of Coke so that her teeth rot and she holds less influence over my boy. No, I probably won't do that. Probably.
Oh hey, guess what? The US Census Board classifies dads who look after kids as "child care". So when you see statistics come out of the US referring to the number of kids in child care? Some of those kids are being raised by (shudder) their own fathers. Can you imagine? Anyway, that rant will be the subject of an upcoming blog post. Plan on skipping it if you're a sexist cave-dweller who's recently been unfrozen, unless you enjoy learning about the advances society's supposedly made since you took a nap in a glacier.
Okay, that's it. Here's my traditional promise to post more often, which will probably not be honoured.
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