“I don’t want you to be my dad anymore.”
A less mature version of myself might’ve been bothered by this. But somewhere along the way I realized that my 4-year-old daughter, unlike her mother and me, doesn’t have a people-pleasing bone in her body. Expressing how “bothered” I am over little digs like that gives me no power over her.
If I raise my voice, she raises hers. If I express frustration, she mirrors it.
There is no fighting fire with fire. There is only subterfuge. Guerrilla maneuvers. Psychological warfare. In other words: keep being nice to her when she says something just to get a reaction.
I’m perfectly comfortable with this approach to parenting. Almost all the time she is a kind and caring and funny and generally good-spirited kid. She’ll grow out of it.
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Are you… thirsty?”
“No.”
Ah. I know what it is.
“Are you mad that I moved your beads?” I don’t say this, but I’m thinking, from the seat of a chair—where a smaller, less discerning child could reach them and then eat them—to the table where all the other beads were?
“Yes.”
“And just so I’m clear, you want a different dad?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“That’s a tight timeline. Has mommy signed off on this?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind her. I’ll see who's available.”
I walk out of the room, 10 seconds elapse, I head back in.
“So there is another daddy available right now. But he’s… well, he’s very small.” I pause for a moment. “He’s the size of my thumb.”
“Oh.”
“And he is very loud. He’s yelling. Constantly.”
“Oh...”
“And there’s one more thing you should know about him.”
“What?”
I try to think of something that would complement being loud and tiny. Drawing blanks. Can’t let this silence hang much longer. Need to say something. Anything.
“He bleeds a lot.”
“He bleeds?”
I am also surprised. But I commit to the bit.
“Yes. A lot. Like a lot, a lot.”
I have no idea where I’m going with this but we’ve moved from grumpy to skeptical, which is a step in the right direction. It’s fickle, though, she is clearly seeking more information about the bleeding.
“If he gets hair in his eyes, does he bleed?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“If he wears a hat does he bleed?”
“Yes.”
“If he puts on shoes does he bleed?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“He bleeds…” she says it in such a sympathetic tone, as if she’s thinking, poor guy.
More questions.
“If he drives a car?”
I raise my eyebrows and give my shoulders a little shrug. She cracks a smile.
“If he talks??”
Eyebrows raise. I get a giggle.
“If he sings???”
Eyebrows. She giggles a little more.
We go back and forth like this at least seven more times. By the end I’ve got her cracking up and the mood has completely reversed. Victory is mine.
In a tone that verges on smug, I ask, “So are you sure you want him to be your new dad?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
“WHY!?”
“He’s really funny!”
Kids say the darndest things
From reader/dad Jimmy:
My 9-year-old did something cute, so I responded with, "Aw, I just love you to death." He pauses, tilts his head, and asks blankly, "So you won't love me when I die?"
Got a funny kid story?
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Thanks for reading! Hope you laughed. See you next time.
-Will
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