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The Two Tongues

Since I’m on the parenting track this morning, here’s another little story I found in my files that I still love and hope you will, too.  It’s not easy to let go.  It requires a lot of courage and faith and even a bit of patience.  But the benefits are great for everyone.

“The first time my son wanted to climb to the top of the slide was the first time I remember experiencing the feeling of letting go.  He was ready, but I was not.  He was a careful kid who didn’t try things unless he thought he could do them.  I remembered Dreikur’s words, “A bruised knee can mend, but bruised courage lasts a lifetime.”  I took a deep breath and moved away from the slide—far enough to give him a sense of confidence and close enough to grab onto him if he fell.  Of course he did just fine, and so did I. 

That event wasn’t any easier than the time he was late for school and I hid in the bushes while he walked crying into the building, or the time he was ready to cross the alley without my help and I hid behind the plants watching from a safe distance, ready to leap in front of him if a car should happen along.  As he got older the letting go opportunities multiplied along with his courage and self-confidence and my faith that he would grow to be an old man. Of course I did create an imaginary golden net to protect him when I wasn’t nearby, and so far it’s working just fine!”

I was browsing through Positive Discipline A-Z, a book I wrote with Jane Nelsen and Steve Glenn, when I came across this story.  My grandson is now 5 and much more sophisticated, but the story still makes me laugh.  For those of you who are struggling with “bad language” with your toddlers, you might find a bit of help or at least a chuckle.

“When I was a kid, if we used “bad” language we were threatened to have our mouths washed out with soap. I’m not sure our parents ever did the dastardly dead, but I’ve certainly worked with enough clients who experienced the soapy bubbles as a punishment for swearing.

When my nephews were little, my sister and I spent hours with them in the car trying to get them to stop using potty talk. All of our attempts failed until we decided to join them and talk like a couple of four year olds. They were so disgusted and annoyed with us they stopped.

My grandson discovered that when he talked potty talk at school he had to sit in a special place and take some space until he was ready to try again using better language.  The word “stupid” made the rounds at pre-school and was considered a bad and hurtful word.  Any kid using that word got a lot of attention, even if the attention was negative.  The attention didn’t seem to diminish the use of the word.  One day my daughter asked if I could talk to my grandson about the use of that word.  Here’s our discussion:

Me:  Z, I understand that you like to say the word “stupid” and that it gets you in trouble at home and at school.

Z:  Yes, Grandma.  That’s a bad word and we’re not supposed to say it.

Me:  You know, I don’t think words are good or bad.  I think the problem is in where and how you use them.  If you say, “Stupid.” to hurt someone’s feelings, that’s a problem.  If you say “stupid” around people who don’t like to hear that word, that’s a problem, too.  Personally, I don’t mind if you say the word around me, but I have discovered something that happens whenever I hear the word.

Z:  What’s that, Grandma?

Me:  It makes my hands need to tickle someone and I can’t seem to make them stop till the person stops saying that word.  Want to try it out?

Z:  Okay.

Z said, “Stupid” and I tickled him till he asked me to stop.  Eventually he decided that he wouldn’t use that word around me.  It was his choice.

On another occasion he burst out with a flood of potty talk which he calls potty mouth.  He looked at me and said, “Grandma, I can say those words around you, right?”  I think he got the message about appropriate places to use certain language.  When he tried out the “F” word on me (age 4), saying he was sure he could use that word around me, I said, “You could use that word, but I prefer “Holy Schlamoley.”  We spent the rest of the day saying “Holy Schlamoley” to everything and that was the end of the “F” word.”

This will be the first of many posts with stories about or questions from my clients.  Everyday my clients teach me about courage as they tackle the issues they’ve come to therapy to resolve.  The client who wrote the poem in this post is one of the most courageous women I’ve met.  She’s learned to walk the line of kind and firm with a teen–no easy task.  About a year ago, her son almost died and was hospitalized for a very long time.  He has recovered from the awful illness that almost killed him, yet the teen struggles go on.  Being a teen isn’t an easy time for teens or for their parents, as you can see from R’s poem.

To the Lost Boys who gather at my home

with all your tears and fears pent up

ready to explode in anger

while you struggle to become who you are

or yearn to be,

battling the days of horrors

inflicted upon you whether real

 or perceived.

You who sense in me a source of comfort and respect,

I offer you a pallet on my floor

along with all

 the milk and cereal I can afford.

I offer you all the love and support

I can give

Even as I fear

For my own Lost Boy who

 battles fiercely with his dichotomies,

taking his anger out on me

 as he passionately absorbs all your conflicts,

protecting your existence and rights,

 utilizing my compassion

as he too struggles to become all he is

 and yearns to be

while he sleeps

on a pallet on my floor

surviving on all the milk and cereal

 I can afford

Rejecting all the love and support

I can give