To give you an example of just how damn QUICK it gets on and poppin’ between my loving son and I:
Friday afternoon. An easy pick up day as the weekend is upon us and there was no need to deal with homework right away. Wait? I’d already said I wasn’t anyway. So there really shouldn’t be an issue right? Ten minutes into our car ride I remind him I had a show and see if he still wanted to go (as he said he wanted to earlier). He says yes, so we head off to get some subs before I’m called. We get said subs, everything is going great and we strike up a conversation about acting.
I have always said and believe that my son is a stronger actor than me. He just has an ability to shed fear instantly when faced with an audience that I have yet to acquire. He says he didn’t know I felt that way. I once again acknowledge what I’d said. Then I’m not sure if he starts to analyze any of my prior performances in his mind, but a second or so later he tells me that he’d noticed how nervous I’d always seemed on stage. I, having to perform that night am not stomaching this too well (maybe I would have at a different time, but not just then. Alas children have no filter.) I ask him firmly and repeatedly to not use my compliment as a weapon to make me feel bad about myself. He glares at me momentarily, and as I’m asking him to confirm that he won’t he refuses to open his mouth. I told him since he can’t answer me he could stay home because I didn’t need to bring that type of negativity with me to a performance.
(side note: This is a pet peeve of mine. Why the hell do people always want to stir up some unresolved whatever or some new bullshit right when you are about to do something major?! Aarrgh!)
I let it go with little struggle, and even managed to turn on some music for the remainder of the ride home. We get to the house. He rushes out of the car, and speed walks to the door not wanting me to get the opportunity to unlock it. He bangs on it so his Grandmother will answer. She does. He jams through the door. She give me the “What-happened-now” face. I tell her what happened and mean while Zion has descended upon her left over two-piece chicken and biscuit from lunch. Like his Mom he’s an emotional eater. I tell him point blank to put it down and that he doesn’t get to pig out because he’s pissed with me. He chooses to ignore me and attempts to brush past me still snacking so I slap it out of his hand. It felt pretty juvenile, and it was a direct response to how disrespected I felt and how furious I was (I even made him pick it up ).
That is the kind of stuff that I want to stop doing, and I know if I keep acknowledging the behavior and trying to make changes those changes will assuredly come.
Keep dancing, singing, swimming, praying, and waving your magic sticks for me.