Just Call My Name

Joe sent me this picture from the summer office outing earlier this month. I cropped it a bit but I'm so glad I have something to remember the moment. It reminds me of everything that's golden about my boy and every boy.

Eric and I had had a long day in the sun and, to be honest, we had worn each other down. It started on the ride out when Eric insisted on having the run of the bus and kept pounding up and down the aisle. I tried being patient until others started complaining. It didn't help I guess that a couple teachers had enlisted Eric as their personal snack-courier; but in any event, I had to physically restrain him and threaten him to keep Eric in his seat for the remainder of the ride. Bad daddy. (Who can blame a child for his desire to wander and explore a half-empty bus?)

After the forty minute ride, it was another ten or fifteen minute walk to Yesong's summer home. Eric sprinted ahead through the winding back-alley country roads, eager to lead the way. After a minute or so, I heard him sobbing lowly around the corner of a bend. I knew what had happened: he had stopped and doubled back, unsure of the way, only to find daddy was lost. When I reached him I knelt and asked why he was crying.

"Were you scared because you couldn't find Daddy?"

He only nodded, wiping away fresh tears and throwing his little arms around my neck. It was a fair lesson and an important one. We moved on, me carrying Eric in my arms.

Half-way there we noticed a deer farm and I held Eric up to inspect some deer. He was interested but not impressed. I imagine he would have liked to see some action.

Finally, as my arms began to tire, I put Eric down but, of course, he was feeling needy and insisted on being carried. This recurring conflict is getting to be like our own Middle East affair. Neither side is willing to compromise or able to offer an adequate compromise. So, being bigger, I insisted on having my way and began to walk on.

When Eric responds with anger or violence, I often become cold and hard and simply walk away rather than risk escalation. But this sort of action only ferments greater resentment, anger and despair. What I would advise the Arabs and the Jews, based on my dealings with my boy is that there is always room for negotiation and greater empathy. For example, I could have invested a little more time not just insisting on my position (He's a big boy now or Daddy's already carrying too many things) but maybe simply sitting with him--listening or noticing the things around us--until he was ready to move on his own. In any event, looking back at the way I abandoned him it's clear I left Eric with a heavy burden of emotions that he needed the rest of the day to dissipate. Bad, bad daddy.

Eric got over his funk when he arrived and was soon overcome by the natural exhiliration of being set free in nature. As the adults broke out the gear and settled in, Eric and I began to explore the place. It was a fine property, enclosed by neatly-trimmed trees and shrubbery, with a modest home near one end of the pizza slice-shaped piece of land. Eric became entranced by a cat that appeared and then disappeared and began to look for it on his own. Food was eaten and activities commenced but Eric and I remained somewhat aloof and out-of-sync from the rest of the crowd and the schedule of activities. I remember Eric did not want to eat anything but cookies.

At some point in the afternoon, Eric faded and I lay him on a mat in the shade beside another sleeper. I was free to join the volleyball game but was feeling disappointed at my own behavior and the fact that my big plans for our first father-son picnic had not quite panned out. I don't know what it was: I couldn't relax the whole day. I don't know if it was lack of sleep or what but I was emotionally spent and my Daddy-radar was overheated. While he slept and I should have recharged, I ended up exerting myself and feeling more acutely how I had failed to really share or bond with Eric to help make it a special day.

When he awoke we tried playing baseball and he busied himself with some activities with various people. I thought it maybe best to leave him be, banking on his natural kid powers to regenerate his own enthusiasm.

At the point when things began to wind down, the grownups had gathered for the "awards ceremony" and to hear Professor Lee's words of appreciation. Thanks were expressed. Gift certificates doled out. But in a marvelous gesture, the staff had purchased presents for Eric and the other two attendant children, aged 1 and 9. Eric jumped when he heard his name and came dashing across the lawn to eagerly claim his prize. Happy. Delighted. Deserved.

"It's beautiful!" he said wide-eyed as he unwrapped his new vintage car pencil-sharpener.

The picture doesn't quite capture the gleeful look I saw in Eric's eyes. It's a little flat and the action appears less dynamic. I remember something else besides the sheer elation of Christmas morning, too; I remember feeling acutely his child's sense of entitlement and validation. Seeing him, I understood for a moment again what it was to be a child whose trials and victories are expressly measured in tears and applause. In Eric's furious scampering, I felt benediction and the absolution of all sins. I remembered how powerfully simple praise or recognition can once again set a troubled, stubborn world spinning in the right direction.

Yes, son. It's beautiful.

Yellow Belt: Discipline and Coercion

Eric earned his yellow belt on Monday (actually half-yellow). It was his first promotion of any kind and it seemed to him a significant achievement, as might be guessed from his contented smile.

Good job, son. Mommy and daddy are so proud of you.

Actually, Monday was the second go-round for his yellow belt since the previous Monday Eric had inexplicably balked at the promotion test. Master Kim was exceedingly gentle and understanding, offering Eric ample opportunity to perform away from the scrutiny of the gathered class and attendant parents; however, Eric adamantly and tearfully refused.

His resistance that afternoon was just one of those moods that sometimes seizes kids. Despite Master Kim's and my supportive urging, he simply refused to break the wooden board, even after performing all the other requirements, and at the risk of foregoing his promotion altogether. I pondered for a long while about what might have set it off (fear of failure, aversion to performing, lack of sleep, not enough validation) but in the end it's not really important. The memory of my own lifetime of irrational refusals and self-destructive tantrums is still vivid enough that I can begin to focus on the larger issue: How and when should a boy's will be overcome?

I guess my feeling is that nothing is more common or more potentially scarring than for a child to have his will repeatedly thwarted and overcome. I've told myself as a parent that learning to yield, concede and compromise will build my boy's character and better prepare him for socialization--after all, you can't always have your way. Everybody knows that parents--and especially fathers--have to set clear boundaries for children. But on the other hand, I can't help but feel I'm turning my little unbounded adventurer/explorer into just another obedient puppy. Must things be this way?

When Eric and I run into a conflict of agendas I end up always trying to nudge, bribe or coerce him into seeing things my way. Everything from the daily challenges of waking, eating and sleeping to Eric's more inspired fits of resistance become battlegrounds of pitted will. I can't even say I'm pleased about my growing arsenal of negotiation and coercion tactics. It all feels like something corrupt. An adult's misdirection to lure the child into a more grownup place. I'm sick of all this. What have I gained by bending him to my will or distracting him away from his own? I reflect upon my own distinct aversion to things I'm not already good at and I wonder if my more ambitious nature was not cowed into submission by discipline and judgment. It's sort of the loser's eternal refrain, "What if I had been nurtured instead of instructed?"

I had my reservations about Tae Kwon Do for Eric in this same regard. I thought it would be needlessly rigid and authoritarian. Just let the kids run around for an hour or so would have been my first choice. He didn't get into the Jump Jam music and dancing class the first term so we settled on Tae Kwon Do. Thank god he got in this year.

Anyway, the first time the parents were invited to sit in on the TKD class sort of confirmed my misgivings, though I must admit I handled it poorly. Eric and a band of cohorts were "playing to the audience" and became disruptive, running from their exercises to play chase amongst the dormant gym equipment. I sent Eric a series of stern looks and nods but he was unmoved. Master Kim was patient but you could see he was being tested. Even when the boys got back in line, Eric couldn't help getting involved in tickling and wrestling with his friends. It was clear that he was the chief instigator. Exasperated, I called Eric over and gave him a stern warning to be a better listener or we'd be going home early. Eric laughed me off and returned to his unruly games. The mood of the other parents was not disapproving but I guess I was spurred to action by my own feelings of parental impotence. He must have crossed some imaginary line or broke some imaginary camel's back because before he could register what was happening, I was whisking him out of his class, bag in tow, for the long walk home.

Oh, how he cried and protested! I remember it was a windy day and I had to duck into the recessed alcove of an office building to get him out of his uniform. A guard came out and told us to move along because Eric's wailing was being a nuisance. I let the poor old guy have it, saving me from choking on my anger and frustration and shame. Bad daddy.

So, the promotion test tantrum didn't nearly phase me. Maybe, in a way, it was Eric's subtle protest at my earlier heavy-handed discipline. If so, it was a cold, calculating stab at his father who he might have sensed was invested in witnessing his son's achievements. I've done that: withheld joy as punishment to others, even at my own expense. But I don't think it was that, though. Eric's not so twisted.

What I think... what I see is that not performing became something very important for Eric that afternoon. Like a life preserver it was something real for him to hold onto in a storm of emotions. Should I deny him that solace? Though Master Kim tried up to the last moment of class and even after, I recognized that Eric would not be moved.

At one point, I could see Master Kim considering whether he should just give Eric the belt and coerce the board break from him next class, but I was insistent that he not do so. There should be consequences to one's actions. Isn't that what fathers are supposed to instill in their boys? Looking back, though, even that demonstration seems a little weak and petty to me. It smells a little too much like punishment or disapproval. Why was I not able to more fully embrace my son's real emotional trauma before turning the whole ordeal into a lesson? I don't want to have to teach too many of these lessons to my son before I would expect him to doubt my unconditional support for his achievements, or even worse, aspire to achievement solely for my approval. Luckily, the following week Eric handled every challenge admirably, even the ones his father was struggling with. The previous week's protest had long faded from memory and he was able to cheerfully enjoy the fruits of his effort.

What I wish for my son, like any father, is that he grow to become a man; but I see no threshold for when that should occur. For the rest of his life, he will need to be independent, resourceful and persistent and I see so clearly that he possesses these qualities even now, as a boy not four years old. Isn't my job to protect those qualities in him, while nurturing his resolve to discover other facets of his nature or even his multiple natures? Who am I to disapprove should Eric turn out to be unruly, aggressive and insolent? Let him explore these natures, too.

What I don't want is for Eric to end up too like his father, too cowed by the threat of censure or disapproval to carry through with his ideals; still experimenting with boundaries as a grownup that should have been made clear years ago; possibly acting out his own issues of structure and discipline in his relationship with his son. Do I blame my own parents for my failings? If I do, it's just another of my failures. A man should take responsibility for the life that lies in front of him, even if he can do nothing about the life behind him. And so, in that spirit, I give this special blessing upon the occasion of my son's yellow belt:

Congratulations on your promotion, Eric. I know how much you love Tae Kwon Do and it shows in your bright smile and boundless energy. I hope Mommy and Daddy's support will spur you to achieve many, many things. I hope you continue in your discipline until you no longer feel that it expresses you. And I hope that you continue in your resistance to Mommy and Daddy until you no longer feel that it expresses you either... love Daddy.

P.S. Bonus footage of Eric in his more natural environment: dancing! That's him in the blue tracksuit in the front row. His daddy was a breakdancer, you know...