A Tale Of C

A creature like no other, C is the by turns sweet and obliging, and yet also tooth-pullingly stubborn and unyielding. There is many a point when all reasoning is futile. He wants what he wants when he wants it. I think sometimes of how much he is like me, but even then, there are many forces at play in his personality that are simply alien to me.

Take yesterday. After a long, squirmy conversation with his homeroom teacher last week, I vow to stop nagging him, to stop picking up for him, to stop attempting to shepherd him and simply allow him to take responsibility, fend for himself and let the chips fall where they may, at whatever cost.

"Only then," says Mrs. B, "will her realise that his actions have consequences and that his situation is a result of his own choices."

So I pick them up from school, and C looks cleaner than he usually does. He washed his hands at school today, he told me. I praise him for his hygienic practices, knowing that my son thrives on positive affirmation, particularly in the few times that he is not shrewdly able to see through a fake ploy.

When we get home, he announces that he has a bit of homework, but that he also has to sell 10 cancer research tickets. He gets dressed and ready to do that instantly. Meanwhile his sister retires to her room to complete her homework.

"Let's go," he says.
"Where we going?"
"I have to go sell tickets for the Run for Hope."
"OK, let me call around and ask who might be interested."
"No, I don't want to do that. I want to sell them myself."
"How?" I asked.
"Door to door..."

And he proceeds to do exactly that. He rings doorbells and knocks on every door from our house to two streets down, and by dint of sheer bravado, manages to sell all his 10 tickets. Some people bought. Some people turned him down. Nothing fazed him. He just went on and on. I was amazed. I myself was never a shy child, but I am quite sure I wouldn't have been able to what he did with as much grace and game.

When he had finished, we walked home together.

"Wow, C, you did a phenomenal job. I'm truly amazed."
"At my courage?"
"Yes, at your courage..."

Of course, when we get home, he plops himself in front of the television, quite forgetting that he still has math homework. I remind him once and as non-naggingly as I can. He ignores me.

With great reluctance, I allow him to suffer the consequences of his own choices.
He does his homework at 10:30.

What is one to do. So be it.