The Three Rules

The Three Rules

In the Lusiani-Elliott household there are three rules when it comes to dealing with small mindedness, and they must be completed in this order:
1. Use your words
2. Ask for help
3. Protect yourself, even if that means breaking the rules

We raise our boys on this mantra of rules because we know, in the end, no one can protect them but them. Interestingly enough, it’s given this self-confessed anxiety ridden mother some comfort to know that even if I’m not around, my boys will have tools to fight for their personal space and autonomy. Little did I know, however, that sometimes those tools would be used in a way I had not intended.

The signs came early with our oldest, in preschool in fact. A strong willed child, our boy is nothing if not assertive in his convictions. Unfortunately for him, his teacher was the same way. To my dismay, they butted heads constantly. My husband and I worked very hard to teach him how to be more respectful of his elders, most especially his teachers. In the end it was a battle that was won not by his understanding so much as our bribing: if he acted respectfully he got his privileges (which, at four, meant he could play instead of nap); if he didn’t, it was nap city baby.

Confident he had been placed with a kindergarten teacher who was equally firm yet nuanced enough in her discipline strategies that we would not be struggling with a battle of the bulls, we looked forward to a more peaceful year. It only took a week or two to discover that, in fact, it wasn’t going to be the education heaven we anticipated. By October I got asked to stay after class with my son to discuss his behavior with his teacher. To say I was mortified could not clearly enough describe my feelings. I seethed on the walk home and once we hit the porch I launched into serious privilege removal mode. I literally went into his room and, with the exception of his furniture and his bedding, took out everything not nailed to the walls.

He got real clear real fast, and shaped up. Each day he earned a “happy face” at school he got to bring three things back into his room. It took about a month, but by Thanksgiving his room and his belongings were restored.

Good for us, I thought. We’re teaching him. However as spring approached and the behavior gradually worsened, I had to rescind my self-congratulations. What the hell was going on? In one of many conversations I had with his teacher that year it finally came to me: we had created a self-confident monster.

When he was told do something he didn’t feel was right, he followed our rules: he used his words (“No, I don’t want to Mrs. Sanderson”), he got help (“Mack, come tell jokes with me until Mrs. Sanderson is done with this boring book.”) and then, when the first two didn’t work, he did what he had to do to protect himself, even if it meant breaking the rules (In place of words here, insert simple silent defiance). In his five year-old mind, he stuck to the letter of our rules and since he ended up “protected” from doing things he didn’t want to do, he was gold.

How were we to guess that giving our child a voice would mean we would have to teach him how to use it appropriately? Writing that in this moment, I suppose it’s pretty obvious we should have not only guessed it but anticipated it. We changed our tact from punishment and reward to something that seemed to make more sense: explanation.

“Jackson, remember our three rules for protecting yourself?” I asked one day after school, as we walked home weighed down by his backpack, sweatshirt, baseball cap, and heaviest of all, yet another sad face on a scrap of paper.

“Yep, use words, get help, protect self, I got it,” he replied very proudly. He may be silently defiant at times, but at heart this kid wants nothing more than to be praised for being smart.

“Ok, so Daddy and I have something else to add. Do you think you can remember one more?” I asked, knowing how much he loved a challenge.

“Sure,” he said.

“So, use words, get help, protect self, that’s all correct, and I’m really proud of you for being smart and strong enough to remember those,” The kid likes praise, remember? I was lubricating my entry point. “What’s next is this: if a grown up who you know asks you to do something you don’t want to do, as long as you know them and they are not hurting you in any way, you need to do what they say.”

“What if it’s a kid?” he asked. “Do I have to do something a kid tells me to do when I don’t want to, if I know him and he’s not hurting me?”

“No, as long as you are respectful you just follow the three other rules.”

“So what you are saying is, the three rules only apply to kids, grown ups I don’t know, and anyone who is trying to hurt me?” he clarified.

“Yep,” I said casually. Inside I was doing a dance. He’s getting it, I celebrated!

“Ok,” he said simply. Ok. Ok, I can deal with ok. Just in case, I thought I’d better hit it home.

“So, the sad face today, why did you get it?” I asked, with baited breath.

“Because I know Mrs. Sanderson, she wasn’t hurting me, and I ignored her. I wish you would have taught me this new rule earlier, Mom, it could have saved us both some grief.”

“Sorry, babe,” I smiled.

“It’s ok, Mom,” he replied. “I know me and Tommy stress you out sometimes. It’s hard for me to think straight when I’m stressed too. You’ll get over it.”

I shook my head. No, sweetheart, I thought, this conversation I will never, ever get over. At that point he was just six years old, and in some ways wise, and certainly articulate, beyond his years.

Well, that’s it, I thought, we’ll finish kindergarten famously. As the happy faces continued though the spring I thought for sure I had tamed the beast; that was until he started yelling at a kid who took a puzzle from him at school during the last week of school.

When I asked him why on earth he did that he replied, “Used my words, he didn’t listen, didn’t have time to get help because we only had ten minutes for puzzle time, so I had to defend myself. I didn’t hit him, Mom, I used my tough guy voice like we practiced.”

“Defend yourself?” I asked, “from what, a puzzle thief? He wasn’t hurting anybody. You’re only supposed to use your tough guy voice if someone tries to hurt you.”

“He was mom. He was hurting my feelings by taking the puzzle I wanted.” Lord have mercy, that’s all I could think.

And now, as first grade comes to a close and the principal and I are on a first name basis after yet another year of struggle, I realize the beast that is my son’s self-confidence will never be tamed by us. Only he can control his responses to different events and no matter how many different scenarios we give him or how many times we rehearse, he will be the one to choose his path. We can guide him, we can provide incentive for good choices and punishment for his bad ones, but in the end it is him and only him that can find his way.

Giving him control over his own personal space and autonomy was what we always aimed to do. It will serve him well as he navigates the dangerous terrain that is middle and high school; in the meantime, keep his elementary school teachers in your prayers. I know we will.