Regular Life

How can one very small person instill such joy and frustration in the same moment?

Our son Benjamin is four years old, plus some change. Only slightly larger than the average child his age, in his nearly 40-pound frame he packs an emotional punch that can elicit amazement, bewilderment, consternation, and every emotion between, without warning or provocation.

As parents we try to keep our wits about us at all times, and that includes keeping those emotions in check. There is no schedule for solving problems. They come up when least expected, and demand immediate action. Sometimes the choice is to decide later, and we hope that in itself is doing something.

Enough with the flowery introduction? Fine. Here are examples.

Shannon and I are in the kitchen preparing dinner and/or emptying the dishwasher. We hear footsteps on the kitchen floor and turn to see Benjamin walking up to the refrigerator. He opens it and pulls out the meat drawer, grabs a package of smoked ham, pushes back the meat drawer, and closes the refrigerator.

“Um, Benjamin, are you hungry?” I ask.

“Yes.”

He also insists on brushing his own teeth and filling the cup for rinsing his mouth. I realize that he could survive (for a limited time) without us. I’m proud and a little saddened at the same time.

Here’s another, less positive example.

Just Tuesday afternoon, shortly after I arrived home from work, I changed into a long-sleeved tee so I could go play outside with Benjamin. I emerged from the master closet to find Benjamin somewhat patiently waiting for me. I ran and tackled him onto the bed, and growled at him as we both rolled around laughing. It was sheer joy.

I felt a sharp pain on the inside of my left arm, just above my bicep. He was biting me.

I pushed off the bed and stood beside it. “No, Benjamin. We do not bite!” I shouted. I quickly pulled my left arm out of my sleeve and assessed the damage. For the most part, it looked like a severe hickey. The shirt had kept him from breaking the skin. Closer inspection, however, revealed two small red dots about the same distance apart as his incisors (the pointed teeth in front).

He fanged me, just in time for Hallowe’en.

Probably he just got caught up in the moment, with the growling and rolling around. His primate brain reverted back to instinct and the earliest weapon — the teeth — struck out in defense.

Before my combination English major and Sociology minor had time to whip up that tripe, something else rang much clearer in my head. The little shit bit me..

He had a smile on his face, so I wanted to do something to nip that. It had been long enough since he last bit someone that I wasn’t sure he remembered. He needed to know that biting is never funny.

Whatever his “reason” for biting me, I exaggerated so he at least would understand that bites can hurt. I said, “Ow,” several times and did the teeth-sucking inhale that indicates pain. There should be an Oscar category for this.

I squatted down to look him in the eye and, perhaps a little louder than I intended, I said, “We do not bite, ever! Do you understand?”

His mouth straightened. “Yes. Are you still going to play with me?”

“I’m not sure,” I said and tried to storm out of the room. I ran through possible ways to discipline him without depriving him and me of much-needed outdoor play time. Plus, Just for that, I’m not going to take you outside to play, didn’t seem right somehow. Taking away his teeth was not an option, either.

As I passed Shannon, she said, “Mark,” in a slightly disapproving manner.

“Well, he needs to know that it’s unacceptable.”

I probably wouldn’t have flown so far off the handle had I not just confronted Ben about spitting in kids’ faces at school. He’s never done that at home or on play-dates, so Shannon was at a loss when his teachers told her. Last year he did something out of character like that, and as soon as he realized that the teachers had communicated it back to us, he stopped. I’m hoping that happens with the spitting.

Ultimately, biting Benjamin apologized, said he wasn’t going to do that again (insert his Academy Award here), and he and I went outside to play. I bounced a tennis ball along the sidewalk while the boy pedaled one of this Big-Wheel-esque vehicles. Besides hiking a trail, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend time outdoors when it’s sunny and about 65 degrees. It’s just this kind of thing that makes me love being a dad.

The biting and spitting parts mentioned above? They registered noticeably lower on the loving being a dad scale. But, it’s all part of it, and as I’m sure my more experienced readers will point out despite my preemptive concession, we’re just getting started. (This is, however the perfect time for any sage advice.)

Update: And then there are nights like tonight, where everything goes right from the moment I walk in the door to when I tuck him into bed.

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