Well we thought we were going to get through the rest of the…..week/month/season with no more injuries. Today George walked into our bedroom where my husband and I had been discussing my new classes and figuring out pricing, etc. G. just came in to ask if we were done talking. He wasn’t crying. He didn’t seem scared or upset. Yet he had bloody streaks across his face.
I actually didn’t see anything different about his countenance, but my husband hopped up, scooped G into his arms and questioned him, asking “What’s wrong? George what happened?”
He didn’t crack until he saw himself in the mirror. His dark blue eyes got wide and there was complete shock on his small face. At this point I put it all together and said, “did you mess with the cat?” His little mouth turned upwards and his eyes filled. Yes, he had fucked with the cat, but he was not opening his mouth.
He held out for a long time. He was steadfast and then he began whining. “I don’t want to tell you.” I knew I had him then. Finally after explaining several times that it was important for Mommy and Daddy to know the things that happened to him he relented, sort of. Then I had to explain that we all did things we weren’t exactly proud of, but it was important to fess up. It was important to acknowledge our mistakes.
He asked if I would be mad. Then he asked if I was sure I wasn’t going to be mad. Then he asked if I promised I wouldn’t be mad.
Then he asked if he could tell Daddy instead.
Today his Grandpa is in town for just a day. George doesn’t want to see him. George is afraid of being asked what happened.
It’s a good life lesson.
A few days ago, G. did something he wasn’t supposed to, something so trivial I can’t even remember now what it was. And as he struggled to fess up I said to him “You know, there are things that we’ve all done that we’re embarrassed about and we don’t like to acknowledge them, but you know what that means?” He avoided me eyes, scanned the ceiling with a little grimace on his face. “You know what you should do?” His eyes sidled in my direction and my 12 year old daughter, in bed with us, piped up “You shouldn’t do them!”
Thank God I’ve taught my children something.