I was making soup Saturday afternoon when my phone dinged with a text from the depths of the basement.
My soon-to-be 16 year old asked anyone want to play pitch?
Yes! I responded, psyched for the invitation from the handsome basement troll, ready in 15 minutes!
We played cards, followed by family dinner, community dishes (our dishwasher broke), a prohibition-style game of beer pong and then scrabble, said teenager still in the mix, still upstairs away from his lair.
About 30 minutes into the game, he declared he’d had enough. He said he was not having fun anymore and began to put his tiles back in the bag.
No! I screamed. Can’t quit. Only 15 more minutes -you can do it!
I’m done he responded.
You can’t quit, I told him. Or no phone tonight. Or i-pad. (I’d show him who had the power.)
His pleasant demeanor transformed before my eyes. His self-awareness and sovereignty (interpreted by me in that moment as defiance and perhaps if I’d dug a bit deeper- rejection) lit my fuse.
He grew big. I grew bigger. We finished the game.
Was it the same as before he declared he was done?
No.
Was it fun?
No.
Did I go to bed proud of myself?
No.
If I could press redo, would I?
Yes.
I’d say:
I get it honey, family time in teenage time is triple what it is in tender mom time. Thanks so much for the card game invitation, doing the dishes and playing two more games. I realize that is a lot of time and energy.
I also know that your little brother and I are having a blast right now. You hanging out with us means so much. You’ll be able to drive next week, which will provide you more opportunity to be away from the house (post Covid-19 of course), and I feel sad knowing our opportunity for time together diminishes every day, despite it being a normal, natural and vital part of your growing up.
Could you possibly take a little break, grab a snack and come back so we can finish? I’d love for you to demonstrate to your little brother that even if you’re losing or bored you can still finish a commitment you started, especially when quitting affects others. That said, I trust you to know what’s best for you, and if you’re at the end of your rope, I honor that.
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This morning I scrolled through my audible library looking for someone to read to me while I vacuumed. I knew exactly what I needed. In Nonviolent Communication, Marshall Rosenberg reminded me of the following:
Punishment is costly in terms of goodwill. The more we are seen as agents of punishment, the harder it is for others to respond compassionately to our needs. The following questions help us to see why we are unlikely to get what we need using punishment to change people’s behavior.
- What do I want this person to do that is different from what he or she is doing? (And why do I want them to do it? What are my needs?)
- What do I want this person’s reasons to be for doing what I am requesting?
When I address this second question, I see that my use of punishment and reward (access to electronics) interferes with Max’s ability to do things motivated by a desire to enrich his life or that of his family. I see that I am acting out of alignment with everything I am trying to reteach myself about living my truest life.
I personally don’t want to act out of fear of punishment or rejection, nor do I want any of the humans I am guiding to either. In my haste (and hurt?) I robbed both of us of an opportunity to speak to our needs and our feelings and to practice acting in alignment with them.
Luckily (?), I think we’ll get plenty more opportunities to practice in the next few weeks. Luckily, he’s turning 16 and not 18. Luckily, I am well versed in the art of apology.