My Kids

Here is another great article I came across.  People often tell me that my kids don't respond well to them.  The kids are very leery of new people and even of family members that they see quite frequently.  There is a reason (an instinct) that the kids respond in these ways.  They can sense feelings, bad vibes, intentions, just like we adults can.  And usually these people have hidden feelings and/or agendas/character traits that come to light later down the road.  I want my kids to be leery of people, I don't want them to trust blindly as I did as a child and ended up in all kinds of horrible situations.  I think also that our inner instinct can feel which people are really our friends or who is lying straight to our face to look good.

 

“How are you raising him?!”

July 14, 2013 Deborah the Closet Monster Leave a comment Go to comments

My Friday evening took a scary, unexpected turn when a neighbor intercepted my son and me on our porch. “Come here,” he told my three-year-old son, Li’l D. Li’l D hid behind my legs.
Conversations with this neighbor had been friendly to date, so I smiled and said, “Nope. That’s not likely to happen. He saw a cricket on the door, and he’s convinced all bugs are out to get him!”
My neighbor ignored me, instead addressing my son again. “I told you to come here.” He held out his hand and said, “Come here and take my hand.”
Bemused by the weird turn of the conversation, I said, “No. I don’t believe in forcing kids to respond to adults, even close friends. It’s important training for them learning to trust their instincts.”
Again my neighbor ignored me and demanded my son respond to him. Li’l D planted himself more firmly behind my legs. Again, more vehemently, I said, “No.”
“How are you raising him?!” my neighbor demanded, finally addressing me.
“To trust his intuition,” I replied.
“You’re wrecking yourself, being like this. I can see it.”
“Wrecking myself?” My mellowness was starting to dissipate as I realized this conversation was going very unexpected, very wrong places. “What I’m doing is telling you why I’m not going to force my son to–”
“Force? Why you afraid? You be tripping. You straight-up be tripping. You crazy.”
Li’l D scampered into the house as I began to reply. “Excuse me? You’re trying to override my directions for my son and you’re telling me I’m crazy?”
“I am trying to talk to your son–”
“No, what you just did was ignore me saying ‘no’ three separate times, which tells me that I have every reason to be scared right now.”
He started making increasingly aggressive statements. Still hoping there was a chance to salvage the conversation, I explained that is was Li’l D’s bedtime, and that my top priority was getting my little one dried off post-sprinkler and into bed. My neighbor replied with more expletives, at which point I said emphatically, “We are not having this conversation.”
I slammed and locked the door. My neighbor took the opportunity to pace the length of my house, calling me names through my open windows, and trying to continue the rant at my other door. As I slammed that door, I said, “We are done.”
He continued to rail at me, calling me names as I made a few phone calls. In response to his shouting, my son asked, “Mommy, what’s a ‘bitch’?”
“We’ll talk about that later,” I replied. Thinking of the life-saving book The Gift of Fear, I murmured, “Thank you, neighbor, for proving I was right to be wary.”
In later postmortem with my fiancee, I was able to see what I’d done unskillfully–for example, saying “no” more than once–and what I’d done well, like finally saying a decisive “no” when I saw the situation not for what I’d expected but for what it actually was.
Thinking through it further on Saturday, I drew a surprising, uplifting likeness to a short post I wrote in December. In that post, I mentioned an encounter with a couple of racist individuals at Disneyland. Though their intent was hardly pleasant, their actual words were easy to interpret in a different light.

What am I teaching my son, neighbor? Why, thank you for asking! These are things I am teaching him:

• No is no. It’s not “yes,” or “maybe,” or “there’s room for negotiation.” Anyone who takes it this way does not have your best interests at heart. You owe them nothing.
• It’s OK to say no. Your safety is more important than someone else’s comfort.
• Your body is your own. Teachers and doctors may help if there’s a problem, but no one else has any right to touch your body.
• Trust your instincts. Trust them all the more when someone tries forcing you to believe those instincts are wrong; sucha  person has a vested interest that has nothing to do with your well being.
• Not all strangers are bad. If you get lost, look for another mother to help you. There’s no certainty of safety, but the odds are much, much better this way.
• You will face additional safety concerns because you are black. It doesn’t matter how light your skin. The same people that ask me “Black daddy?” now will still notice your mocha skin and broad nose when you are bigger; not all will be friendly. Please remain calm, understanding (a) you have a better chance of staying safe that way and (b) other peoples’ misbegotten beliefs about you say nothing about who you are.
• Your mom has your back. I would much rather be called a “bitch” a million times over than do or contribute to a single thing that makes you genuinely uncomfortable. I will not force you to do things that make you uncomfortable unless they are necessary.

It’s not just your mom who’s got your back, either.

My neighbor tried implicating me with his aggressively asked question. Instead, his question helped me feel empowered. The lessons I learned from author Gavin de Becker’s The Gift of Fear and Protecting the Gift pointed me toward the path of safety, but thanks to my neighbor’s prompting, I learned I can actually walk it by doing so. I was able to show my son that the things I tell him are not just things I say but ones I do.
This, too, is what I’m teaching my son: There is no name anyone can call me that will stop me from standing up for him as he learns the skills to do so himself.