I felt like I was in a grueling Olympics of Patience this morning trying to get my nine-year-old out the door to school. Intensely focused with a mind of his own and living life at his own unique pace, some days prodding my slowpoke into action can be an agonizing experience. I’m often running to and fro in a flat-out rush while Corban dawdles. Once he’s focused on something, distracting or redirecting him is an exercise that, if not futile, at the very least requires a considerable investment of time and energy. Straightforward negotiation doesn’t work, and I’ve learned that the more I hurry, the worse it gets.
While Corban may be oblivious to my frustration, he’s very aware of precisely what he wants and when he wants it. He knows what brings him pleasure and happiness, as well as what comforts and soothes him, and he also has a very clear idea of how he wants to get it, regardless of the time. After I complained to a friend this morning, she told me her son has the opposite problem: it seems he cares so much about making other people happy, she worries he won’t assert himself to learn how to make himself happy.
Wham! I was shocked into truthfulness, and I saw my son in a new light. Corban is becoming all I’d ever wanted. What more could I ask for?