pursuing

“Everybody was being mean to me!”

These are the words my nephew used to justify his temper tantrum last night. It was the biggest toddler freak out I had seen up close and personal like this. It all started when he needed to go to the bathroom, so like any country boy 4 year-old, he walked out back and releived himself. He had closed the garden gate behind him, so he was shielded from view, but I was wondering where he was, so I went looking.

Enter cousin C. Or as I like to call her, The Queen of the World. She was walking around to the garden and caught M red-handed, or should I say, yellow-handed. See M, my nephew, had fallen prey to the most common of male handicaps, the dribble. M had gotten a little pee on his underpants and shorts, and without thinking, I said: “Oh boy M, did you pee your pants? Come on, let’s go change your underpants.”

Speaking these words in front of The Queen of the World, is equivalent to excommunication from the Catholic Church in medieval times. M protested. “I didn’t pee my pants, I only got a little bit on there.” He ran back behind the garden and started fighting the tears.

“You… you let me down!” M mumbled through trembling lips, with his head in his hands.

A little weight dropped in my stomach. My first experience as a “bad” uncle. The days in which I was the flawless friend were over. I told him I could see how I had embarassed him, that I didn’t mean to, and decided we needed a code word to talk about if that happens again. Especially if Queen C is around.

Him and I laid on the reclining lawn chairs and exchanged glances playfully. I could tell he was still upset, but now he was having fun with it. The ensuing situation probably could have been avoided entirely if C hadn’t run into the house spreading the news of M’s misfortunate accident. Out come D and Mimi, older sister and maternal grandmother, ready to clean up the mess, and make sure M got ready for dinner with fresh clothes on.

M was having none of it. He was further mortified that now the whole world knew about his infamous mishap. It might as well be headline news, with his face behind bars and sad clown makeup on. Mimi told M to get inside and get his pants changed.

He said no.

This was war, there was his dignity to defend, his honor, his pride. All of that was on the line for M. As long as he stood his ground, he could control the situation. Unfortunately for M, he weighs less than 40 pounds or so. M was given one last chance to comply with his nemeses, his defenses were holding strong as Mimi counted: “1… 2… …” – “No!” – “… 3, OK, that’s it! You’re going to time out”

RED ALERT!

Meltdown mode – engage! M screamed as he was pulled away from the lawn chair, grabbed at first by his Mimi, but it was I, Uncle Penn who needed to step in and bring him upstairs to his bedroom. The tantrum lasted another 5 minutes or so. M alternating between screaming bloody murder and head down in his blankets. He tried to grab a couple things and break them, but D and I weathered the storm, protecting the room from destruction.

Eventually, I went downstairs to dine, and D ate food with him up in the bedroom attempting to limit the chaos, and all was peaceful in the realm for the next couple of hours. After dinner, M, and his little brother G colored in the coolest coloring book known to toddler country boys, the Tractor Coloring Book.

This instance reminded me of a similar embarassing moment from my childhood. It’s funny what memories stick with you, and it may give a glimpse into why this episode struck such a chord with me. One day, my sister had a friend over. I was probably about 5 or 6 years old, which meant that my sister was maybe 4 or 5. They were looking through a photo album, and found a picture of me nakey from when I was maybe 2 years old. They came up to me and said “Look at your little wee wee!” and I just lost it. I was so embarassed. It’s a pretty funny situation looking back on it.

But I’ve related to M on more than just this. Him being the oldest son, and I being the older brother of my sister and me. I relate to the unfair responsibility that gets put on him to behave and to set an example of how to act around his younger brother – as if 4 year olds are responsible for setting an example for 3 year olds. M is usually the one that gets in trouble, and I remember it being that way when I was young too. I was often the one in trouble, although I may need to ask a more objective audience than the recollections of my past, which are likely to be biased towards my experience.

After M, G and I colored for about an hour or so, it was time to wind down for bed. Well, M was still in the mood for acting out. I imagine he was feeling rebellious from before and sensed an opportunity to assert himself with my sister and her husband out on a date. He raised some more hell, this time with me out of the picture. I was sitting out on the porch and could hear him yelling and screaming upstairs as his older sister, D, tried to get his pajamas on and his teeth brushed, but I don’t know if I was feeling nervous or lazy, or just maybe assumed that D would take care of it, but eventually the boys came back downstairs with D behind them, and she looked exhausted. She had done her best to control the kids, but she mimics the way her parents treat the kids, except that she’s a teen and she doesn’t exactly have the same level of authority over the children, and also, doesn’t have the emotional maturity just yet to be able to temper her own emotions and actions, and I reckon she may have reprimanded the little tykes a little roughly.

I started to have a debate in my mind. I have always advocated that violence against children does not teach them any lessons, that it only reinforces the notion that force and violence are the way to get what you want. It makes sense to me that when the boys are playing with each other, and one child takes away another’s toy, the reaction is violence. This is what their parents demonstrate, and it’s what the child learns. Maybe I’m giving too much creedence to this, but I do believe it deep down.

Although… I never had the experience of having a brother.

The other narrative that crept in to my mind was one of the power struggle that was taking place in this vacation rental house. There were 5 adults, 1 elderly grandmother, and 1 teenager against 2 toddlers and a baby. And the oldest toddler was winning in the game of “king of the vacation rental house.” It was clear to me that this was a power dynamic that would not sustain a thriving and equitable community. If this toddler continued on his tyrannical tirade, society would surely crumble. The village was crying out for a just and powerful king.

So I got up out of the rocking chair on the front porch, and started to strategize how I was going to get these kids to bed. I figured I would start small, after all, military psychology is important in warfare. Start with a small victory and encourage success. I brought G up to the bedroom and put him in bed. M at this point was still getting what he wanted, and was manipulating his poor grandmother Mimi into letting him listen to a violin concerto on the front porch where my grandmother and mom (Mimi) were sitting. Let’s get one thing clear, this kid likes Paw Patrol and Joe Diffie. He doesn’t give a fuck about violin concertos. I relented, cursing under my breath for not being appointed interim ruler in the vaccuum of the throne left by my brother-in-law as he enjoyed his date with my sister. I took a breath and patiently waited my turn to take M upstairs to get in bed.

All I’ll say about bed time is this: Thank God for AI for writing a very long and very sleepy bedtime story about tractors.

When the boys were “asleep” I descended downstairs to find the parents conversing with Mimi and D. I’m glad we had a little time to discuss the events of the night, and to see how my sister and brother-in-law have handled similar events in the recent past. They consoled us, letting us know that they had dealt with similar tantrums involving these two.

As I was recounting my methods of flawless interim parenting to the court, M peeked his head around the stairwell, and my brother-in-law pointed to the little terrorist, saying: “Look Penn” and chuckled. Slightly humbled, I watched as M embraced his parents as if he was the best little boy on planet earth, and they assured him he was going to have a conversation with them the next morning.

As we were discussing the fallout of the night’s events, my mother, Mimi recounted in a worried tone: “You know, M kept saying ‘but everyone is being mean to me!’ and we kept telling him ‘no, you’re just not minding’ but I wonder, does he really think we were being mean to him?”

My sister and brother-in-law assured her that he doesn’t actually think this, that he’s just acting out. Internally I pondered the question. Again, I related so strongly to this little kid. In fact, I’m surprised that no one else in the room related to that feeling. After all, being convinced that the world is against you seems to me to be one of the most common human sentiments. Yes, it is a rather immature and self-centered handicap, but it is very human at it’s core. In my experience, 4 year-olds have been known to express immature feelings in pretty raw and chaotic ways. My 33 year-old self expresses this sentiment in ways that I’ve learned are either acceptable by society’s standards, or are tucked away in a corner, hidden from the prying eyes of parents, family, society, and sometimes I’m convinced that I even succeed at hiding these things from my Creator.

My mom mentioned that I used to freak out like this as well, and that kids do this as a manipulation technique. That if the temper tantrum is big enough, the parent will back off. I remember this not only with parents, but with friends as well. I was definitely known to flip out. Immediately it became evident to me that I still had a lot of growing to do, because I can now see my self-pity as the grownup manifestation of this same technique.

It gave me a fresh perspective in the Christian metaphor of God as Father and humans, even adult ones, as children who “know not what they do”. Sometimes we act just as irrationally as toddlers having a little temper tantrum.

All of this gave me a stunning look at myself, parenting, the world and it’s problems, and shaped my perspective in new ways I wasn’t expecting at all. The experience reminded me to continue to “pursue” because it all counts. All of it. The need for continued emotional growth does not only affect me, but it seeps out into society both positive and negative. I have a lot to take away from this week down at the beach, and it would be wise for me not to just focus on the good times, the ice cream, the sandcastles, the bike rides, etc.

Chris reminded me that discomfort is where growth occurs. I can be grateful for this discomfort, and one thing I’ll say is that I felt more alive hanging out with these kids, and substitute parenting for a couple of hours than I did most all week when I was relaxing, playing video games, reading recovery literature or biking around the island. That’s something to pursue next time.