Monday, April 23, 2012

Owen Says - Or A Lesson On Recovering From Disappointment


The other night I sat down to dinner with my husband, his father and his wife, and of course, Owen.  We try to eat dinner with Owen a lot because eating really is a social thing and I want to make family dinners a part of our life. I want to firmly establish a time where we can ask Owen about his day and he will ignore us, ask to be excused before finishing his lima bean casserole, and roll his eyes when I quiz him on world capitols and revolutionary heroes. But eating with Owen usually means we have dinner when most restaurants in NYC are still serving lunch and when most restaurants around the rest of the country offer the Blue Plate Special.  But since we go to bed at an hour most appropriate to elementary school students or farmers in the middle ages it turns out okay.

Owen has recently developed a love for trying to eat with a fork or spoon though the chances of food reaching his mouth is just slightly higher than the chance of us being able to afford to pay for preschool in New York city. But last night he was doing a stellar job, even spearing the food himself, which was a new (and if I do say so myself impressive  trick for a 13 month old). I think he was inspired by the fresh lamb sausage.  He was so proud of himself.  He was laughing and cheering himself on (yes I have taught my son to clap for himself which could be viewed as self-aggrandizing but I have found to be a great tool on many occasions in my own life.)  Then suddenly right as he was about to successfully convey a juicy bite of meat to his maw, he jammed the fork right into the roof of his mouth.  Happiness over.  First his lips trembled and then he gave way into full body shaking sobs.  Tears poured from his eyes like he was auditioning for a soap opera and he waved the fork at me as he opened his arms for a hug.

We all know the feeling.  It's not just the pain. It's like when you'd dancing around your living room to your favorite song with so much glee that you start to feel like you are just one class shy of mastering the skills of Baryshnikov (or some hip modern dancer that would make be sound less old.)  Every cell  is alive with accomplishment, you are sure that if Janet Jackson (or someone way more hip) were to peer through your window at that moment she would invite you to star in her next video and then suddenly you stub your toe and with the rush of pain, your dream disappears like smoke.

I know that Owen will inevitably experience disappointment in his life and that I will be powerless to stop it but I am floored by how much it hurts me.  I watch him approach the world with so much sheer joy and watch him sadden when the world does not respond in kind, and he is only one.  The other day we were in a playground where all the kids were older than Owen.  He wobbled up to them and try to play and one after one they would shout," No," and walk away.  I watched his face crumble each time and when the third kid walked away after Owen tried to hug him, he started to cry and then crawled over to me and buried his face in my chest.  I love how sensitive and loving my son is but I worry.   I get that for the other kid, having a strange one year old toddle up to hug you could be perceived as somewhat creepy but I still wish he would have hugged Owen back.

All I can hope is that Owen finds people who love him.  I hope that Owen does not learn to close his heart or hide his emotions.  I hope that he still gives hugs and kisses to his friends and to a metaphorical extent, strangers.  I hope that people return these back to him.  I hope that when the disapointment and heartbreak, and sadness comes, that he will have the strength to deal with them and that I have the strength to interfere only when it makes sense.  So while I wanted to tell that kid to hug Owen back, I know that that is wrong, both for the kid and for Owen.  I also know that Owen will in fact bounce back,probably within minutes, just like he bounced back from the frustration of stabbing himself in the mouth with a fork just after learning to feed himself.

Because shortly after the fork incident, Owen discovered the game, "Owen Says."   I don't know how it started it but for some reason when Owen clapped his hands the four of us around the table mimicked him and clapped ours.  When he stopped clapping, we stopped and Owen broke into hysterical laughter.  He then threw his hands in the air and waved them like he just didn't care (sorry) and we did the same.  He laughed again.  Once he realized that we would do whatever he was doing he was beside himself.  He twisted in his high chair, he wiggled his hands above his head, he touched his nose to his plate and after each thing stopped to see if were following.  When he saw that we were he would laugh and laugh and laugh.  And we laughed and laughed and laughed because it was impossible not to experience his joy.

So, I think this is the lesson for me, sadness will happen.  And I have to let the sadness happen and trust my little boy to feel it and move on.  I can comfort him, be there for him, but also let him find his own power.  Because if a one year old can make a table full of adults do the twist in their chairs, clap their hands, and put their noses to the table, and have it end up making them laugh the hardest they have laughed in months, well, I'm pretty sure he's going to be okay.

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