Two Sundays ago, I picked Atticus up from the nursery and we went out the back door of the church, heading for the car. This was a bit of a miscalculation, because it meant that we had to go by the playground, but I decided not to fight it. He loves climbing up the slide, especially, so I let him do that. This was also a miscalculation, because when he climbs up our neighbors’ slide, I can be right there with him to keep him from hurling himself off the edge. The playground equipment at church is much bigger. There are more edges.
I realized my mistake immediately, but the best way to get him to run away is to desperately need for him to do something. This is where it helps to work in a middle school. I played it cool.
It didn’t work.
He did his happy dance at the top of the slide, then ran across the bridge in the middle of the equipment. I tried–a little too intensely–to get him to climb down on the other side of the bridge. Wouldn’t it be fun! To get down over here! Song and dance! Excitement!
I see what you are doing, mama, and I don’t think that would be very fun at all.
He ran back across the bridge, and as I darted over to the platform, he threw himself down the slide. Face first. My heart stopped for one teeny tiny moment and then he got to the bottom and yelled, “WHEEEEEE!”
No harm done. His shirt was very dirty, but when is it not? I laughed in relief, and he laughed at me.
We have ideals, you know. We have given Atticus dolls and books with lady firefighters and a pink pacifier clip. And he holds the dolls and reads the books and does not yet hate the color pink. But the truth is that his favorite toys are already 1. Balls. 2. Trucks. 3. Trains. He runs and throws and bangs and is into everything. Several times a week, one of us will say, “Where did he come from?” I don’t know exactly how Mike and I could have combined to make such a rough-and-tumble boy.
When he was just born, people asked which one of us he looked like, and his Nana would always say, “He looks like himself. He looks like Atticus.” I thought I would recognize more of us in him, in his looks and in his actions. But it is also good to see him simply being himself. We are trying to listen to that.
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4 Comments
Isn’t it an amazing study in nature vs nurture?! Berk still sleeps with his baby doll & I avoided even having trains and cars in the house for the longest time…yet they gravitate toward them still. Honestly, I was shocked, and humbled a little.
Hooray for Atticus for being brave and dirty and adventurous! And hooray for you for letting him be himself!
When you talk about “wondering where Atticus came from” it reminds me of a friend of mine who is the opposite- he grew up in a rough and tumble family of boys and he’s into writing and acting. He talks about going hunting with his dad and writing plays in his head instead of looking for the animals. I love that you’re embracing Atticus for being himself! Also, I think he totally looks like you & Mike-besides the awesome curls.
Balls are Andra’s number one favorite toy too, and trains might be number four. Sometimes I wonder if boy-stereotyped toys are really more about energetic-type toys. But I love your awareness of how Atticus has already begun to inhabit himself, even if that’s very different from his parents. Good for him! And good for you for encouraging and celebrating it.
Listening to who Atticus is telling/showing you that he is – is one of the best things you can do for him. And who Atticus is – is remarkable and wonderful (as well as energetic and rough and tumble.) It’s good that you gave him the dolls and the pink clip because we shouldn’t just assume that “boys will be boys,” and he should know he has choices about what he likes to be and do. But it’s even more important that he feels free to be who he is with your blessings, even if who he is baffles you sometimes! And he still looks like himself – although I do see his grandpa Ray in him often!