Saturday, October 3, 2009

The Joy of Fatherhood

For a couple days before her visit, and for a couple of weeks afterwards, Silas becomes obstinate, unruly, and utterly incorrigible. My boundaries have the strength of Jell-O. No means maybe, no matter how many times it's repeated. Simple requests are met with a sort of passive defiance; he hums along ignoring me absentmindedly, as if he didn't hear. Sometimes I try to pretend I don't hear a hurtful earful: "My mommy won't make me fill my marble jar before I get a reward. My mommy will let me eat whatever I want. My mommy will read me two stories at bedtime."

"Mommy ran away, abandoned you before you were even weaned," I want to scream. "Mommy gets to swoop in like Santa Clause a couple of times a year, shower you with gifts and candy, then leave you again, leaving me to do all the hard stuff!"

Instead I play it by the book. While inwardly seething, outwardly I never put her down (at least not when he's within earshot). The experts say to never say anything negative about the unapparent parent. Children nearly always put the absent parent on a pedestal, and typically target themselves as to blame for that parent's decision to leave, so throwing the cherished absent parent under the bus can not only drive a wedge between the child and the custodial parent, but also ratchet up the child's sense of guilt. Everything is your fault when you're four, so if the absent parent is a "lying, no good, selfish, irresponsible, neglecting deadbeat," it's somehow the child's fault. So, every impulse to the contrary is choked off before it escapes, and I defend her to defend him.

Even though I know it's normal for children to put the absent parent on a pedestal, and even though I hold steadfast to the belief that, in the long run, Silas will understand and appreciate the steady, unconditional love he has only found from his father, at the end of the day logic offers little solace when, while refusing to eat his dinner, the little person who your entire life revolves around tauntingly tells you that "When I see my mommy, I'm going to run and give her a great big hug, and I'm not going to give you one."

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