A father learns it’s what you say AND what you do.
“Dad, Leo called me a dumpy bitch.”
I am at the computer. Trying to pick a project and devote some time to it. Pick. A. Project. Like the Spirit & Spoken Word Festival at the lake. Or the book. Or the #500word challenge I came across on Twitter. Or book #2. Or the poems. Or the Musical which after I get some time to pull together will blow the mind of men all across North America. Some of them may actually go and watch it, may learn to love the genre. And sing. Yes, men across North America will sing as a result of my musical. They will spontaneously come to song flushed with inspiration rising as they sit and lift their voices towards the ozone, their natures soothed…
What? My mind’s attempt to process Madeline’s statement ends up hung out on the laundry line of creative pursuits. As the family winds start blowing my whole imagination shrinks from focus and my 8-year-old daughter comes into view. I’ve never even been to a musical, well maybe one, 20 years ago.
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“I feel myself close to drinking in the anger but I am quick to pull myself from that toxic soup.”
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“Say it again honey.” I lean in on my right ear front. Sometimes my left ear is less than dependable. Or the suspicion of this lends me time to formulate a plan. Or lends me the time to say a quick prayer asking for patience as my brain’s early designation brings forth a reaction bordering on rage.
“Leo called me a dumpy bitch.”
Whoa, that’s what I thought she said! The nerve of the little bugger. He’s approaching his 7th birthday with all the swagger of a top prospect looking at his own rookie card. I am going to have to rein him in. He cannot make comments about her body size! I don’t want her feeling unhealthy, and when did he start throwing out swears? It’s not like we are rocking out to gangster rap or anything…
As I push back my chair from the computer there is some quick mental figuring taking place. I feel myself close to drinking in the anger but I am quick to pull myself from that toxic soup. I need to get to a higher realm; a place where I am able to make it better.
Leo meets us in the entrance to the Dining Room, which has basically been commandeered by the chickens as their Art room while they are on Christmas Break. Ma’s looking sullen, but not offended. Leo’s bright-eyed, no signs of obvious guilt.
“Leo, why did you call Ma [Madeline] a dumpy bitch?” I ask.
“She said it to me first.” No signs of weakness. My focus turns to Ma, the corners of her mouth turn up. Maybe a smirk. I will ride that humour train here if the opportunity presents itself.
“I didn’t swear,” she professes her innocence with batted eyelids.
“Well why would he lie? Leo why would she lie?” I hang my head low, turning to each of their beautiful little mugs. Beautiful little deviant hilarious mugs.
Madeline pipes us, “I think he heard me wrong. I said he had a dumpy page.” Whamo! Now we are gaining some traction.
“I thought she said I was a dumpy bitch,” Leo explained.
“But she was only saying you had a dumpy page.” I can rest.
We debrief the whole misunderstanding. Ma hearing she shouldn’t chirp her brother’s work, Leo hearing he shouldn’t throw around hurtful words. Both of them hearing it is not right to speak to one another like that, “You are both so special. We don’t treat one another like that.” I try to end the whole episode. My interest lies in the term “dumpy,” which Ma explains to me as being “sloppy or not neat.” This makes perfect sense coming from our little crafter. In her world that would be a hurtful bomb to throw at her brother.
Parenting crisis averted I sit with them a bit longer in their den of creativity and refuge.
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“Nice work Danny, I think to myself. You do understand he copies everything you do, eh? Fathers need to remember they are the example – dumbass. Even my self-talk needs to be cleaned up.”
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“You know Leoly, you shouldn’t use swear words, they are inappropriate.”
The language wasn’t my main concern here. Initially I was worried about body image for my girl. There was no malice connected to the dumpy comment. He was repeating what Ma had said. When asked he thought the word had to do with “eggs or something.” Humpty Dumpty is going to fall a lot.
“You do, hmmmf,” he casually throws it out there and grunts to make his point. Stinker! He’s really going for it.
“I am 35 years old and I only swear for expression or emphasis! And I don’t swear that much.” It would be interesting to hear if I was telling or asking.
“Hey laddy, you know I am the adult in this exchange.” Now, I am telling, and using an Irish accent for effect.
“I know, I know.” he finally relents.
Nice work Danny, I think to myself. You do understand he copies everything you do, eh? Fathers need to remember they are the example – dumbass. Even my self-talk needs to be cleaned up.
Patience and humour are my most sought after responses when dealing with my children. After years of interacting with young people I find that they are often two of the best reactions when dealing with all children. They need to make all those mistakes to figure out how to act. Truthfully, over the past year I have attempted to cultivate an attitude of patience with each person who comes across my path; young and old. I know it’s good for me, and I have found that it is most often the beginning of what I can best do for them. And despite my flawed nature, that’s the kind of example I want the chickens to emulate.
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