I do my best as a father to my two sons. Parenting is so damn difficult sometimes. Every day, I try to find the right way to make my children understand what is best for them. I'm in a perpetual state of Goldielocks in the book of the Three Bears while attempting to find what is suitable for my sons.
Nico says sorry all the time. Even when he did nothing wrong. I used to do that when I was younger. I hate that he does that now. "No, Nico, don't be sorry unless you actually did something you aren't supposed to be sorry for," I lecture.
Nico is so giving and sharing. Just like me. I don't want him to be totally like me. Now, think back to when you were a child. Did you please everyone? I sure did. Let's take a look back on one incident, shall we? I remember it well. I was in first grade, Reagan was about to win, the '80s was in the beginning, and I and my friends…
We were sitting in the cafeteria lunchroom enjoying our lunch. The lunchroom seemed so big back then, and the ceiling so damn tall. We sat on our assigned class benches, talking about what 6-year-olds of that time did. Saturday morning cartoons and the new break dancing club started.
The auditorium/cafeteria was loud. Two hundred little kids talking louder than the next. Our voices came together in a single chorus, ringing like a bell from the highest towers. Even as we kids shoved food down our throats, that didn't stop the constant chatter. I can't believe nobody choked to death.
My father qualified for reduced lunches for the four of us, but sometimes, I brought my lunch. I was so excited. My mom has just bought me a Black Hole tin lunchbox. It had excellent movie graphics, a metal latch, and a fantastic thermos attached to the inside. My peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chips, and Oreo cookies snugged nicely against it.
My friends and I talked about how grueling our math was now that we were doing double-digit addition and memorizing our times tables. Hey, that's a big deal for young kids. I wanted to be more thrilled about bringing my lunch to school. The shiny new lunchbox paled compared to the tostadas the other children were feasting on. But nonetheless, I was happy. I had my Oreos.
I ripped open the bag. Are zip-lock bags difficult for everyone? The cookies fell out of the bag and scattered on my napkin below. Six glorious cookies stared back at me. I couldn't wait.
"Chris, is that an Oreo," a cunning fellow 6-year-old said.
"Yes."
"Can I have one?
"Well, umm…"
"Come one. Just one."
"Yes, I want one too!"
"Me too."
The other kids jumped in, and I passed them out, not counting my dwindling supply until it was too late. I gave all my Oreos away. I just stared at my napkin. The black, crispy cookie shell was all that stood out on the white backdrop of my napkin. I don't know why, but tears started to form. As I cried in my hands, I heard someone ask.
"Why is he crying?"
"I think he gave away all his cookies," the girl replied.
"Well," the little boy replied as he licked the white center filling, "he shouldn't have given them all away."
The incident has followed me all my life. I didn't know such a menial incident should pop up every now and again. It is a thought that infiltrates my mind when I feel taken advantage of, even if it is my own.
I want my boys to know that, at times, it's okay to say no when they don't want to do something. Yes, when they genuinely mean it and let go and move forward without saying "sorry," they have to apologize in the first place if they genuinely did nothing wrong.
I'm looking for the "just right' porridge when I should teach them to keep track of their Oreos because that's where their happiness may lie.
685 words
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