Arlo (2) won’t stop pressing his body up against the fireplace doors. Last week I wrote that maybe the best solution was to wait until the fire taught him a lesson, but after days of experimenting, it appears the fire doesn’t get hot enough to provide any pain schoolin’. With all other options pouting in defeat, I broke my anti-timeout campaign promise and put him in the front vestibule for 15 seconds anytime he touched it.
Instead of giving me any indication that he understood the concept of punishment or consequence, he stood on the other side of the glass door staring at me and smiling, as if being sequestered to a cold part of the house where we keep the shoes is totally neat. I walked away, pretending to forget he was in there, only to return to his excited, adorable, and semi-manic grin.
I counted to 15 loudly, but with each number he became more and more pumped-up. By the time I’d gotten to 12, he was jumping and shrieking. I opened the door, and he stayed there like a dog waiting for someone to throw the tennis ball again.
How can I not laugh and snatch him up for a big squeeze? “Please don’t touch the fireplace doors, little man. Actually, just go ahead and do whatever you want. You’re goddamn adorable. Never change.”
What was intended as behavior modification, has been co-opted into a fun multi-staged game. He runs and presses himself against the fireplace, I snatch him up and put him in his tiny prison cell, where I stare at him disapprovingly until he smiles enough that I realize it isn’t working and let him out. He runs to the fireplace, I snatch him up, throw him in prison, he smiles, and we both start laughing. Put another mark in the loss column for me, but do it in pencil, because defeat is kind of hilarious, and before long, he’ll be grown-up and I’ll consider having fun with him to be a victory.
I think he enjoys this discipline because I’ve never, in his entire life, done anything to intentionally cause him discomfort. In his mind, then, any situation I foist on him must be for his enjoyment. “Well, this seems sucky, but I’m sure it’s supposed to be fun, so I’ll just shake it out and connect with the sweet reggae jams of the shoe room.”
It’s also possible that he’s prematurely shrewd, and understands he’s being punished, but with a chart-topping emotional IQ, knows the easiest way to get paroled is by portraying himself as an adorably naive cherub. There’s a possibility, then, that I’m attempting to discipline a human being who is more evolved and smarter than I. My 2 year old son has identified my weaknesses and routinely exploits them for his own gain. That might be my position as a father right now. It makes me proud, and a little frightened.
Perhaps he’s simply the most positive person on earth. You know the woman at the Yoga studio who hugs you and tells you what color your spirit is that day? He’s even happier than her. He has moments (that I’ve already shared) when he throws himself face down on the ground and screams, but those rarely last for more than thirty seconds before he hops up and shoots us a wry smile as his tears make a futile attempt to climb his bulbous cheeks.
The other explanation is that he’s 2 years old and his behavior is enigmatic to us because he’s unadulterated, innocent, and pure. Why break that spirit prematurely? Isn’t that what school’s for?