On what I’ve learned

I’ve been raising sons for 19 years now. There’s this thing that happens. I know it well. One brother (often it’s the older or larger of a pair, but not always) begins covertly, out of my earshot, picking on the other. It’s lots of little things. Teasing, stealing a toy or favorite piece of clothing, saying something mean or rude, refusing to help with his chores, ridiculing his friends or personal convictions, pulling his hair, eating the candy he had been saving. It goes on for a while. Maybe 10 minutes. Maybe an hour. Maybe even whole week. Or three weeks. It festers while the pestered brother keeps trying to brush it off and be the good guy. But, then, at some point, that underdog just can’t hold it in anymore. He cracks. He does something really extreme and violent. A sudden punch to the face, a bite on the arm, a slap on the cheek, a screaming tantrum with verbal threats, even a kick where it hurts most. That act of violence is shocking to the pestering brother, but even more to me. I react firmly and quickly, because, of course, I’m not raising violent sons. I’m raising sons who can reason and think and negotiate. Right? This cruel aggressive offender will be punished. He was in the wrong. He was, it seems, the only one in the wrong. I had barely realized all the moments that led to this aggression.

But I’ve been doing this for 19 years. By now, I’ve learned one or two things. I’ve learned that when a shocking eruption like this happens, I’d better slow down and ask some questions first. And I’d better be ready to really listen. Because there is almost always something serious that led to it. Often it’s much more serious than that quick reactive and painful action. The slap to the face? It’s not necessarily going to solve the problem. In the moment, it seems to have made it so much worse. It wasn’t exactly the perfect plan. But know what? It sure got our attention – both mine and that of the original aggressor brother. It made us notice things. It made me stop and take the temperature on a smoldering relationship that was sitting there right under my nose in my own home. And it makes us jump in and do the deeper constructive problem solving that is needed.

I’m 44 years old and this is what I’ve learned. I’ve also learned that many people don’t like bold, opinionated women. So I write about being a mother. There is plenty there for now.