Make me!!

How often have we heard that phrase, or its two close friends, “you can’t make me,” and “don’t make me (pull over this car)”? Frequently, these statements are overheard paired with a judgmental tsking, “why can’t they just control their children?” Once, I even had a woman behind me in a check-out line tell the cashier she’d make her own child behave by slapping him, if he behaved like mine.

The reality is, we can’t make anyone do anything. We can physically force them through the motions, as long as they are smaller than we are. We can impel them to bend to our demands, whether by fear (put that down or you’ll get a spanking) or by manipulation, (put that back and I’ll buy you a toy), or we can choose to teach them the skills and offer the motivation to cooperate and interact with kindness.

Over the past week, I’ve heard “make me” more than usual- and mostly from me. When I am most upset as a parent, and worried about my children, are the moments I feel the least in control. . . . of them. I wonder what I’ve done wrong to make them fight, or what I could have done right to make them be more polite, or kinder. A more valid worry in these instances, would be the amount of control I can exert over myself.

Chaos came to a head one morning last weekend. Carter was screaming, Archie was screaming, so I joined in. When I failed to acquiesce to Carter’s shrill demands, he responded by hitting me. I lost control- of myself. “What did I do to make him treat me like this?” I wondered, and “how can I make him sorry enough to never do this again?” I basically put him back in his room and told him I couldn’t talk to him anymore, I was too angry. I then folded laundry.

I brought the laundry to his room, greeted by, “DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I won’t look at you, or interact, I just want to put stuff away.” He continued his silent work at his desk. As I stood there, sorting little boys’ underwear, it hit me- no matter how angry I felt, (and believe me, I was furious) I didn’t want to remain in this severe disconnect with my son. Unsure what to do, I tried for narration.

“Carter- sometimes, when people get in these angry patterns, they don’t want to be in them, but they don’t know how to get out. I think, to get out, you could just say, ‘hey, I don’t want to be in this angry place, what can we do to work it out?’ and see what happens.”

I was met with silence. I put away more underwear, then took a leap.

“Carter, I don’t like being in this angry place with you, and I’m not sure how to get out. I want us to be able to calmly discuss our differences and have a fun time this afternoon.”

No response.

“I will be putting away clothes, probably in the other room, if you would like to talk.” Then, I did the hardest thing I’d done all day- I walked away. As I walked away, parts of my brain screamed, “He should be talking! You should make him talk to you! He should be sorry! You are being so nice and he’s IGNORING you! MAKE him sorry.” I gave that frustration a mental voice, and then followed it through to its natural conclusion. Could I make him sorry? Well, I could make him sorry that I was angry, and possibly make him extend more care to keep me calm, out of fear of my anger. Was that what I wanted? No.

What I wanted was to revel in the amazing parent-child love. I wanted to share his curiosity about nature on this beautiful day, to read together, to learn together. I wanted to be connected. I wanted him to figure out how to get out of conflict with his relationships still in tact.

As I sat on the front stoop, he approached me with a drawing, tied up with pipe cleaner and two dollars.

Through tears, I circled yes.

Then I thought about how to respond, and chose to respond in his language:

He circled yes too, and wrote, “It’s all right”. He asked that I keep the two dollars.

There were more blow-ups, but as the week has progressed, I’ve gotten better at keeping my eye on the ball- at what I really want to teach, rather than what I really want to make happen.