September 2, 2015
"Nope, I don't want
to go."
What
do you mean you don't want to go? I'm the parent. You must go if I say so.
"Don't want to go, daddy."
There
is no debating this, son. Get dressed, you're going.
"Nope."
Yes.
"Nope."
There
is little chance of your not going, son. The odds are stacked against you. If I
were a betting man in Vegas, I'd avoid betting on you as if the starting team
lost its star player.
The
fact is, you're five years old. Son, it isn't your fault that you cannot see that you
have already lost the battle and are about to lose the war.
So, put on your shoes and let's go. We're pressed for time, so
let's pretend all this didn't happen.
"Daddy, I understand your position. It's a chess
match between you and me. We are both in a psychological standoff of sorts.
On the one hand, you want me to go. You need the boys to
go willingly so that you will feel that you have succeeded as a parent, and you talked me into doing something without getting emotional.
On the other hand, I know if I don't move, you will force
me to go. And I will defy you, kicking and screaming, until you get me in the
car. However, you are in a closed compartment now, where I will kick and thrash
in my seat. I'll probably refuse to wear my seat belt until you pretend to get
out of the car. You know how it goes. You unlatch the belt and sling it to the
left. You grip the door handle with your left hand and push the car door open. You
turn and place your foot on the ground.
But that puts little fear into me. I have seen it many
times before, Daddy. We need some originality. You should change your routine a
little. As soon as I know that the foot touches the driveway, I will quickly grab the seat
belt and put it on, thus causing you to get back in your seat.
But I won't be done after the seat belt fiasco. Oh no, my
little voice will amplify, making me sound as if there are 3 of me sitting just
feet from your ears. You will pretend to ignore me. Look at your phone. No, not this time, you'll turn up
the radio, won't you? Pretend, maybe wishing, that I wasn't there.
But Daddy, you know I'm there, watching you, crying, and
pretending just as much as you're pretending. I will cause my voice to go into
different octaves of nerve-twitching screeches. I will watch your face cringe
in the rearview mirror until I find the right tone that annoys you, and then I
will stay at the octave.
When I cry and won't stop, you will try to be the good
guy because when that happens, you will be the "good guy."
'Come on, son. It'll be fun,' you'll say.
'We can get some ice cream later,' you'll try to compromise.
But I'll pretend that I won't hear you. I'll cover my hands with my face or look out the window. I don't want your ice cream. There is ice cream in the house. You know it, and I know it.
Then, Daddy, when I think you may be winning because you
haven't moved from your seat since then, put on your seat belt incident, I will
enlist the help of my brother. I will wink at him, indicating I am ready for
him to participate. We have all worked out our sign language. And then he will
start crying and egging it on. Possibly pretend he's on board with you, Daddy.
Yelling at me to be nice, 'listen to daddy,'
he'll begin shouting. Then I will yell
at him, no! And so it will go back and forth.
Do you still want to go to the store?"
I-
um- well, I'm exhausted just hearing this. We should all have a nap while
falling asleep in a movie.
"That depends, Daddy. What movie are we
going to watch? I'm only five."
691 words
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