The Gentle Answer

Dave just recently returned from being out of town for two weeks. I am a little out of practice with solo parenting - he hasn't had to travel much with his job here, certainly not anywhere near as often as he did when we lived in South Carolina - so the past couple weeks have been a little bumpy. To add to that, Chase (the five year old, for any who might not know) was rather challenging during that time period. Strike that - I believe in gentle, positive parenting, but sometimes you have to call it what it is, and in this case, he was downright awful. I know he missed Dave, for one thing, and for another, he has excellent radar for sensing weakness. He knows that I more vulnerable when I have no backup, when I am tired, when I am overloaded with multiple demand and needs, and he likes to push as many buttons as he can during those times. Okay, okay, fellow gentle parenting friends, I KNOW he's just a child, and I KNOW he's mostly just looking for more care and attention because it is in shorter supply when I'm on my own. I am fully aware of all that. But please understand that some kids are just a little...MORE. (If you have one, you know what I mean.) Some kids are a lot MORE. Some kids really do like to push boundaries for the sake of it sometimes, and Chase is one of those. Also understand that I love him not in spite of it, but for it. I love his spirit, his sense of adventure, and his all-out personality. He never does anything by halves, and that's wonderful.

But during the past two weeks, what he didn't do by halves but instead with every ounce of his energy for every waking moment, was to buck every boundary and fight me whenever possible. He wouldn't eat what was available and when it was available, but only what wasn't allowed and when it wasn't convenient. He wouldn't brush his teeth and fought against taking baths. He wouldn't get in the car when we had to go somewhere, and he would unbuckle while we were on the road, forcing us to stop. He fought with his siblings over each and every scrap of anything. He threatened them with bodily harm when he didn't get his way (and if you think a five year old can't really be threatening, you haven't seen Chase wielding a shovel). He threw things when he was angry. He spit at us and called us names. And then after hours of this, when he had drained what seemed the last of my patience and endurance, and usually at a time when I was most busy, he would want me to hold him or sit with him - suddenly as if I were his very favorite person rather than someone against whom he had waged war. Gentle parenting him during all this was not easy. There's not a softly-spoken, gently-worded way to say, "DO NOT HIT YOUR BROTHER WITH THAT SHOVEL!", although I did try to get to the heart of the matter, to employ positive touch and positive words whenever I could. I tried to give him good, productive, happy things to do, before he got himself into mischief. I tried to make sure I looked him in the eye when he was speaking, so that he knew I was busy, but not too busy to hear him. I tried to remain calm when he did go berserk. But I can't say I was always successful, or that I never raised my voice with him. It wasn't always pretty. There was one night that was particularly dreadful, when he was angry for reasons he wouldn't explain, and was rather violent about it. He threw a book at me, then turned to my bedside table and in dramatic fashion, threw everything off of it, one by one. Thoroughly exhausted and at the end of my rope (dangling by the last little unravelling thread, in fact), I just sat there and watched him as I considered my options. Trying to discuss things with him had already failed. He wasn't in the mood to talk. I decided not to renew any instructions for brushing teeth or getting his pajamas on. What he was doing was so wrong, and I was the parent - I should make that point clear... shouldn't I? But I had enough presence of mind to know know that threatening him, punishing him, or even scolding him would only fuel the anger that was boiling over in him, and widen the gulf that was between us. 

So I waited for him to run out of things to throw, and then as he stood there, fuming, I got up and silently picked everything back up and put it on the table. It felt good because it was the unexpected thing, both for him and for me. It diffused my frustration, and, miraculously, seemed to do the same with his anger. He didn't say a word, either. He climbed into bed, I climbed in next to him, and he snuggled up beside me, for all the world like he hadn't just been throwing things at me. I said I loved him and that I was sorry he was angry - or sad, or frustrated, or whatever it was he was feeling that he couldn't explain and didn't know what to do with. I said I understood what it feels like to be angry, but that we needed to find other ways for him to deal with it, because throwing things generally doesn't help. Also, people generally don't appreciate having things thrown AT them. And, again, I said that I loved him. He didn't say anything, but pretty soon he was snoring. 

Later I thought about how amazing it is when "a gentle answer turns away wrath," and about "traditional parenting," or whatever you want to call it, often doesn't apply that proverb to parenting. After all, if you don't stand your ground and let your kids know that you're in charge, they'll run roughshod all over you. If you let them disobey and disrespect you, why, they'll be ruined forever. And in that light, how can you afford to let gentleness and kindness get in the way of showing them what's what? Obviously, we reject that, but of course, we believe in boundaries and in teaching our children. We believe in allowing them to learn from natural consequences, and sometimes, in imposing consequences that help bring them back within the reasonable boundaries. So as a rule, hitting, throwing, and name-calling is not allowed in our house. But I also don't think that the "gentle answer" in this case in anyway undermined those house rules or my authority as a parent. I don't think he looked at that and thought, "Haha, I got away with that one. Throwing things really IS okay. What else can I get away with?" I always think that the heart is more important than rules - that true discipline of the heart and mind is always better than punishment, which I try to avoid - and so I think that it was vastly more important for him to experience wrath being dispelled than for a broken rule to be punished. It was so much more important for good to happen than for me to "win." It's not about me having the upper hand at all times. It's about a heart and soul learning goodness. 

And you know what - that was a turning point for us. He wasn't suddenly angelic, but he was noticeably calmer and a little more cooperative the next day and from then on out. I don't think it's because he thought he had won something or that I was a pushover - if that point wasn't actually clear, he learned it when I (silently and oh so gently!) locked his bike up for a few days after he purposefully went out and rode it after I had said no. Rather, I think it was because WE won something together, when the unexpected moment of grace, the quiet and unassuming "gentle answer," proved to be stronger than the much louder forces of anger, strife, and frustration - and far more pleasant.