Edmond Sanganyado’s brilliant son Tino had been speaking his mind for a while. Finally dad listened and was amazed at what he learned.
—
“Tino has not been listening, lately.”
A month ago, my eldest son, Tino, turned three. I did not throw him a party, or even buy a gift. I was broke. On the day of his birthday, I woke him up before I left for school and sang the world’s most famous song, Happy Birthday to You. Eyes half-asleep, he smiled and I that comforted me.
Tino is a genteel kid. Oftentimes, I joke he has better people skills than me. Once, I lost my wife’s phone at church and a stranger brought it back. He recognized Tino on the lock screen. Everyone knows Tino.
Taking Tino to child development center is like walking on a red carpet with an Oscar nominee. A two minute walk from his class after school would take ten minutes. He knows all the parents of the kids in his class. Surprisingly, my wife and I are the quietest people on earth. I guess, we both have a people skills recessive gene.
“Oh my God, your son is the most manicured kid I have ever seen,” shouted the young substitute teacher. Thrilled she continued, “I was carrying a few portable toddler beds after sleep time. Tino walked toward me and asked if I was okay and went on to offer help. I have never seen that.”
Me neither. Are you OK? Do you need help? I do not know how many times Tino has asked me that. I might be lifting up a coffee table, Tino is quick to offer assistance. If Child Protection Services saw him holding a coffee table as I mopped the floor, they would have taken him to foster care or arrested me for endangering a child.
One day, my wife was in the living room watching either Family Feud, Jeorpady! or Wheel of Fortune. Wondering where I was, she asked Tino of my whereabouts. Tino busted into his bedroom-slash-daddy’s-office and found me writing. Without saying a word, he left and went back to his mom.
“Daddy is busy.”
I do not know if I should say I was happy or sad. I was happy Tino knew when not to disturb me. I was sad because writing had become a higher priority to me. Even my three year-old son noticed. Tino did not say, “Here you are.” His signature statement to show he was glad to find me, but sheepishly left the room. I was happy-sad.
I should have acted then, but I did not know what to do. Not only that, I had many things going on school, finances, family and health. I resolved to spend more time with him, which I did for a little while. I resolved to stop on my tracks if he calls, which I did for a little while. But, I did not take long to return to my old ways.
—
“Tino is not feeling well, he has been crying for many hours.”
I was at school when Tino’s teachers called. Tino had gone down with flu. It is just a flu, I told myself.
Tino is that kid who does not cry when he is sick. At one time we took him to urgent care, when the doctor left to write prescription for flu, Tino cried and I noticed he had inflammation on his throat. It turned out Tino did not have a flu, but strep throat. But this time it was different. He was crying continually. After a dash to the urgent care, we discovered he had an ear infection.
After a week, Tino was back to his old self, playful and full of stories. When he turned three, he was moved to preschool. At two he could spell his name, count to ten and do the ABCs. Most children forget by the time they turn three, but he still remembers. He knows all the songs on Chris Tomlin’s And If Our God Is for Us and on Phil Wickham’s Singalong. I was excited, my son had a chance of becoming a genius.
A month ago, after preschool, I was sitting with Tino home and I asked him if he liked school. He does not like people who call daycare school. “It is not school. It is daycare,” he corrects. I call every place where people meet to learn school. I do not care whether you are taught by early child educators, high school teachers or professors, it is a school. Tino thinks otherwise.
“I do not like daycare.”
“Why?” That was a first, Tino used to love daycare before he started preschool.
“I do not ride my bike anymore. We are always inside. We do not go outside to play. I want to ride my bike. I want to go outside,” he ranted obviously angry at the new daycare system. My questions were like poking an overblown balloon and he burst before me.
Tino missed playing, but I took it as a joke. I told a few friends about what Tino said and we all laughed. Another friend of mine told me kids enjoy playing and should be left to play at times. I did not listen to him. If only I had listened, maybe the long chat with Tino’s teacher last month would not have happened.
Although Tino is a great kid, but he is a kid. Occasionally, he throw tantrums or poos on his diapers. That is not fun, at all, but he is a three year-old kid. When I get angry at times, I just remind myself he is three. I will be out of my mind to expect a three year-old to behave like Queen Elizabeth, courteous and regal. Unfortunately, most of the times I am out of my mind and get angry at him, but last month it was different.
“Tino, why I you not listening to your teachers?”
“Because we are not going outside. I am not riding my bike anymore. I want to go outside and play.”
Childish answer? Maybe not. Among other things, the issue of playing had contributed to the problem. A few days ago, my wife slept at 11 pm because Tino was awake and wanted to play. When I was a kid we played a lot and I enjoyed it. Tino did not want much, just to play. Was that asking too much?
After school, I am sorry daycare, I took Tino for a run. We ran around the neighborhood and he was talking the whole time. They’re lots of stars in the sky. Yes, because it is nighttime. It’s dark I can’t see. Yes, but they are street lights everywhere. Daddy, are we going to get mommy from work? Yes, we will meet her at the bus stop. I am tired, let’s walk. Yes, that is what I wanted, I said quietly.
After we met up with his mom and returned home, I read him a book. It was about gentleness. I did not know we had the book in the house. I used to read him his favorite story, David and Goliath. For a change, I picked the new book. As I read the book, he repeated every word after me, until we got to a picture of a baby.
“Daddy, Daddy look. The baby is happy,” Tino shouted, all excited. I had eureka moment at that second. Tino knew emotions. I told him if he sang a song, his little brother will be happy and asked him to sing a song. I expected him to sing Matt Redman’s 10,000 Reasons or any other song from Phil Wickham or Chris Tomlin, but he chose the most popular song in the world.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you Aka, happy birthday to you,” sure enough his little brother was all bubbles, laughing and happy. It was a miracle.
“Tino, do you want daddy to be happy?”
“Yes,” he said with a big contagious smile.
“Do you want daddy to be sad?”
“No,” shaking his head incessantly he answered.
I went on to tell him what makes daddy happy and what makes him sad. If there was an award for dads in the world, I would definitely be nominated for one. The world’s worst dad. The moment when I discovered my son does not want to do anything that makes me sad at only three almost brought me to tears. He loves me, he want me to be happy.
Yesterday, I took Tino to bed. I slept by his side and read him another story. It was a boring story and Tino noticed too. I closed the book and watched him is he dosed off. The next thing I remember birds where chirping outside and I felt fresh and energized. Maybe spending time with my son is not to help him with his attitude. It is for me to take time to rest.
Today, after school, I am sorry again daycare, I am going to take him to the park and let him play. I do not like going to the park. A few men go with their kids, I used to be the only father at the park many nights. Today, I will forget about being the only man in the park. I promised Tino to take him to the park yesterday and I am going to keep that promise.
Playing makes him happy. Keeping my promises to him makes me happy.
This article first appeared as Daddy, I want to go play at Chronicles of Kid Next Door
Lead Photo: Flickr/Gunnar Salvarsson
I write nearly 5 nights a week… AFTER sitting with the family and having a meal that either my wife or I have cooked. And my unbending policy is that my 7 year-old son and my wife may walk into my writing room at any time, for any reason… My writing is not about me. My son may come boldly into my presence at any time and ask for help or just even chat about whatever (and he does grin emoticon )… What is weird, is that some of my most “disjointed” writing sessions turn out to be the ones… Read more »