Last night Ben was in a snit. It had to do with homework and his refusal to wash his hair. Sort of. I notice the need to find a cause effect equation to explain his behavior. But sometimes I think he is just mad and neither of us will ever know why.
John was coaching him in the shower and I stayed clear of the bathroom. But the door is thin and I could hear the exchange.
"You are an idiot!" Ben pelted him.
I sighed. There are a few roads I have gone down with mean words. Consequences sometimes make a difference, although at one point in Odhner archives I recall an incident involving One Chore per Insult and the antagonist took the challenge, racking up 70 in a matter of minutes just because he dared. That was a tedious, drawn out process to implement and I am not sure it was worth it. Then there is simply forbidding certain vocabulary. That goes well. Once Benjamin got around the rule to not say "stupid" by writing it in permanent marker on his bed. I laughed more than I ranted, though the sheet was worthless even to a thrift store.
"You must not be talking to me," I heard in a calm voice. I paused. Apparently so did Benjamin. The scene of Dueling Tongues was diverted and the shampoo began to lather.
I was impressed. John is right, too. Ben has trouble aiming his feelings in the right direction, often stabbing them at The Penguin or the nonverbal boy at his last school named Andrew.
Ben does not actually think his father is an idiot, regardless of the misleading and incriminating words that jabbed out of his mouth. If he were more facile with language perhaps he might spin a different string of syllables.
"I am scared of water in my face."
"I would rather do factoring than fill out a boring math page."
"Something happened at school today that confused me and I still feel uneasy."
John is most definitely not an idiot, although I might have been foolish enough to fall into the trap of responding to the word instead of the unnamed feelings.
Most of us say things we do not mean. We pretend we do and even think we do, and defend them like the queen in chess. But behind them is a vulnerable king, the feelings that will knock us out of the game if anyone finds out we are really scared or lonely.
