He is only six, but he would make Epicurus proud.
Read chapter 1 here. If you like pancakes, you will like it.
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My photo of my son, less than a year old. Baths in the sink!
I have always been hesitant to express my enjoyment. I feel guilt, as if I should be finding ways to do something for someone else.
I dislike the vulnerability of openly expressing pleasure.
I identify more with the Epictetus school of life.
So it is fascinating, and ironically pleasing, to watch my son navigate the world.
He embraces pleasure, one of his greatest joys being baths.
But two weeks ago, he witnessed something that showed him how wrong he had been doing baths.
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Through infancy into his, and all our kids’, toddler years, we kept baskets and nets of toys suction cupped to the white bath tile above the tub. With the special crayons and scrubbers and soaps, the walls would become a piece of art you might see at a head shop, while the water would transform into a dark, swirling, glittery miasma a witch could summon a hideous monster from.
I am not sure how they got clean. But really, are kids ever clean?
While his older sisters had their share of fun in the tub, he would spend an extra long time in the tub. In addition to the coloring shenanigans, he loved racing boats, sticking letters on walls, and finding new ways to make the water drip, flow, and spill.
My wife and I, in the next room, would hear the unmistakable sound of bare buns sliding against the porcelain tub. Sqquuuuueeek squeeeek squuueuueeeek. This was followed shortly by the crashing of waves and splashes. Rushing into the bathroom, we would whip open the door to the sight of a naked boy flinging himself from one end of the tub to the other, tidal waves of psychedelic colored water cascading onto the tiled floor.
A mess for us was an engineering project for him.
(This should be on the cover of the Parent’s Handbook).
He seemed to simply enjoy the feeling of water on his body.
His mastery of bath time flourished. The array of entertainment has evolved, but he still has a bucket of baubles that comes out for each wash. He discovered foams at some point, and he spends allowance money on those and an arsenal of bath bombs. He relishes an epsom soak from time to time as well.
Until two weeks ago.
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My wife was having a particularly rough week, and she deserved a treat. Baths are rare for us, so I thought, hey, let’s give this a try.
I did it up right. Candles. Wine. Popcorn. A stand for her phone to watch her show. A new bottle of bubble bath. Salts. Body wax (whatever that is). I did my best to keep the kids occupied too.
I wanted her to go in and melt away.
I got most of it right, but alas, my little man managed to sneak into our bathroom.
He opened the door, and he was greeted by the soft glow of candles, a foamy good-smelling bath, and a mom with snacks AND a tv show?!?!?
Bathing had just been leveled-up.
His audible reaction was: “Whoa! Can I have a bath like this tomorrow?”
While my kid likes baths once he is in, it is still a pain-in-the-butt to get him in at all. Anything that will make that easier, I endorse.
Needless to say, the next day my son received the spa treatment. And he loved it.
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The stoic in me observes how he interacts with his delights.
In my estimation, we don’t need all these comforts, and when we have excess, we should give it away. I am not religious, but it feels sinful, in a small way, to indulge.
But a great challenge of parenting is observing, not judging or directing.
So I watch him. I consider his life and my own. My reality was one of relative scarcity. We always had food and warmth, but we certainly couldn’t afford everything that many of my friends did. Things were sometimes hard and the budget was quite tight.
More influential than anything else, I came up in a world where one parent (and that parent’s extended family) over-indexed towards selfishness. The other made sacrifices to indulge that selfishness, but they got little in return. I watched this unfold, and I came to understand it more deeply as I aged.
This emotional tension influenced how I feel about pleasure today.
And here is my son.
His reality is markedly different from mine. This is, truly, what I want for my children.
While my wife and I are intentional about instilling the values and skills of hard-work, accountability, and overcoming adversity, I want my son, and all my children, to feel free to embrace life. I don’t want guilt of feeling good to hold them back, like it has for me many times.
I shape how the history of my family unfolds.
I want our story to be one of celebration, laughter, and happiness.
And my son is leading the way.
…
Keep reading! Try this short read about my AI generated mental breakdown, or this one about my son, the hedonist, or this one about how my wife taught me how to be loved.
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Or if you just want to shoot me a dose of encouragement…
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: J.L. Combellick(Author)
