My Kid Forgave Me

You know “the look.” I think everybody does. Sometimes, it’s privately shared with a friend when somebody says something to remind you of a personal dialogue.

It’s shared with a spouse, hoping to convey “get me out of here” or “stop being such an ass.”

It can be shared with a sibling, when a particular eyebrow placement is able to say the words “For the love of God, here she goes again,” or “I love this story!” or, “um…did Dad actually just say that?” and even “…you’re a douche and I can still beat you up if I need to, weeniebutt.”

The look conveys thoughts. Messages.

Import, even.

Special needs moms share the look – a savoir when trapped between other moms, when somebody innocently suggests that “all kids do that,” or says “what’s wrong with him?”

It serves as an “I’m not alone” thank you when a friend is there to buffer the hurt that comes from Super Mom giving the look – the one that’s full of judgment and ickiness because my child isn’t behaving to her standards.

The look can be many things, good and bad, and spans many relationships. It extends itself selflessly between friendships, parenthood, marriage, co-workers, and to our children at times.

It can come from our children. The look from our kids can mean “help me,” or it can mean “did you just hear me fart because that’s funny!”

Or, it could mean “Why don’t you understand, mom?”

It sucks when it says “Why don’t you understand my words, Mom, because you, above everybody, understand my words…”

It sucks when it says,

“Help me.”

Tucker gave me a look like that this week. It was full of disappointment and frustration and was due to my inability to properly interpret his request. Of course there have been many moments when Tucker has said something and I don’t understand him. They suck. But, on this particular day, and during this particular request, it was the first time in which my little boy looked at me with anger, hurt, and – dare I say it – defeat.

Defeat.

I had NO idea what Tucker was saying, and he knew it. He’s known it before, but, this time, he knew it, and felt badly about it.

He was watching TV while I made breakfast, and a commercial came on for a show. I couldn’t see what he was talking about when he said “want this!” So I turned off the stove, went to the TV and asked what it was. By the time I got there, the commercial was over and Disney Jr. was onto the next commercial – Mickey.

Me: “You want Mickey?”

Tucker: “NO! I want this!”

“This” wasn’t on any longer (!) obviously so I asked him to help me know what “this” was.

Tucker: “Chascht Opft!”

Me: “Blast off?”

Tucker: “Not Bchascht Oft, Chascht Opft!!!”

Me: “Chase off?”

Tucker: “NO chashe ofpt, chascht optf!!!”

Me: “Show me? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Tucker: “No say sorry! You no do it!” (because “sorry” is reserved when you hurt your friends, obviously)

Me: (thinking)

Tucker (insert TheLook, and the defeat, and my heartbreak): “I can’t do it. You do it. You say. You try.”

And then, he put his fingers to his lips the way he knows when trying to say “phone” for the “F” in it (that only works for “phone”).  And tried to help me do the same. With my fingers, on my lips, so that I might “say it.”

It broke my heart. My baby told me that it was too hard to say what he wanted to say. He told me that his words were too hard and that I should try. As if he thought I knew what he wanted and simply wouldn’t give it to him because he couldn’t say it, and, that if I could say it, maybe he could just say YES and would get to watch whatever Disney Jr. show it was that he wanted to watch…

I had no idea.

Fuck.

I didn’t think that day would  come just yet.

And maybe, it hasn’t. Because if there’s one thing about kids – all kids – to include typically developing kids, special needs kids, autism kids, delayed kids, kids (!), it’s that they’re totally resilient. More so than you. More so than me. More than all of us. Kids forgive. They forget, and they move on.

What a lesson, huh?

Kids move on.

While Tucker was sad, and I was more sad that, for the first time, he exhibited the cognizance that maybe words come hard for him, he moved on. He moved on before I did. In fact, he moved on right away and I still feel unbelievably sad about the fact that he knew.

I didn’t expect him to realize that “he can’t.” Because most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, when he’s inappropriate, or awkward, or whatever, he doesn’t notice. Doesn’t mind.

You know what happened? My kid forgave me.

Swiftly. And without regret. Without repercussions, without “fine, I’ll move on but you didn’t ‘get’ me.” He just moved on. To laugh, to play and to love me, he forgave me. 

Most people I know (including myself) would have held a grudge. 

When I’m hurt by friends, parents, siblings, or my spouse, it takes me a while to move on. How awful would it be if my own son took a while to move on or told me that he needed some time to “process” or to “get over” the fact that he relied on me to understand his words? But nope. He moved on. Rapidly and without regret, and without judgment.

He moved on. And I was still his favorite and he still got mad at me for other new things and didn’t bring the old thing up. Imagine that. Imagine being angry with your spouse, and not having anything else play into it.

Imagine feeling hurt, betrayed, and misunderstood and then, just moving on. That’s what Tucker did. What a lesson huh?

And that, my friends, is what I’m thankful for this week. Because this is one lesson from my son that I think I need to relearn. That all of us need to relearn.

It’s been three days, and I still feel sad that I did not know what he was trying to say.

It’s been three days, and all Tucker knows is that we’ve shared pizza, hugs, tickles, laughter, some discipline, a bounce house, five playgrounds, a couch fort, and the best of the best of goodnights and goodmornings.

He knows that AllOfTheThings were mostly full of good.

And that we were, too.

My thankful and my wish for this week is that we learn something from the resilience of our children.

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