A Carving for the Soul

There is a basic theme that runs through nearly every discussion I have with my children, and though it’s not a deliberate theme, it just sort of presents itself in the lessons I feel I am inherently required to deliver.  It is one of character.  More specifically, it is the character trait of being mindful, cognizant, or self-aware. 

The other day, Paige and Tony were giggling when I walked into the bathroom closest to my bedroom – I guess you’d call it the master bathroom, or simply, my bathroom.  When I asked why they were giggling, they said, “Move the candle.”  I moved the candle to see that “Tony” had been carved into the wood, and there was a cute smiley face in the “O” and a nice little heart beside his name.  I immediately thought it was Paige, simply because of the embellishments. 

“Not funny, Paige.”  I answered. 

“Yeah, not funny, Paige.”  Tony mimicked and giggled.

“It wasn’t me!  I only drew the smiley face and the heart.  Tony carved his name.”

So, they were both guilty, and I was a bit upset, though the table was pretty old, and the carving might have actually made it look better.  But they didn’t need to know this.

They know they’re in the most trouble when I don’t speak after they’ve misbehaved.  I didn’t speak.  This was right before bed, so they said, “No more TV for the rest of the day?”  Still I didn’t speak.  “No more electronics for the rest of the day?” They tried again. 

“Go to bed.  Your punishment will be waiting for you in the morning.”  They went off to bed without another peep.

In the morning, Paige was the first to come down.  She put on her cartoons.  I shut them off.  When she started to blame it all on Tony, I kind of lost my wits; and though I didn’t speak the anger, she knew something was up.  I let her go on and on about how if Tony hadn’t carved his name, she wouldn’t have carved the heart and the smiley face.  (She might someday make a good lawyer).  When I didn’t answer, she got frustrated, and the tears came.  “I shouldn’t be punished, Tony did it!”

I just looked at her, and said, “Do you buy that as a sound argument? Do you think it’s fair that I punish Tony and not you?  Are you saying you did nothing wrong?”

I got all those questions in because she didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t incriminate her and relieve her of her punishment.  She wanted to argue (because she’s good and annoying at it, like her mother, I suppose), but she couldn’t.

“Take a minute and think about it, Paige.  My job is for you to figure out the right thing, so that you can build your character.  This punishment and my anger right now isn’t about you carving the stuff into the table, it’s because you and your brother seem to be defending it, and assuming I’ll take it lightly.  It goes to consequence for your actions, and ultimately, respect.”

She didn’t say anything.  When Tony came down, I heard her whisper, “Mommy’s thinking about our punishment.  She’s mad that we carved your name, but she’s madder that we laughed about it.” 

She got the gist.

After a few minutes of their squirming while I did my morning workout, I said, “I’m going swimming.”

It was 7:30 in the morning on Friday, before work. 

Both of them jumped up and got on their swimsuits.  They came running back downstairs, and said, “We’re ready.”

“Perfect, go get your shoes on.”  They couldn’t figure it out.

“While I am swimming, you two will be picking the weeds out of the garden.  You don’t have to get all of them, but I want you to get the ones that are around the tomato plants.”  They ran to the window and looked out.

There were a lot of weeds to pick, but aside from a little whine, they looked resigned to completing the task.

“Is this our punishment?  Once we do it, that’s it?”  Paige asked with Tony nodding beside her.

“We’ll see how well you do.  And try not to argue, I want to enjoy my swim.”  I walked outside and got in the pool.

They argued for a little bit, complained that it was hot (90⁰), and that it was too hard.  I glanced at them over the edge of the pool, and said, “This water’s awesome.  You might want to speed it up because I have to get in the shower and get ready for work.”  At that point, they started to work.  After fifteen minutes of silence, I glanced over and saw that they had removed nearly every weed (and there were a lot!).  They saw me watching, but kept at it.

“Alright, that’s good.  Come on in!”  Both of them jumped in the pool and hugged me.

“Don’t do it again.” 

“We won’t. . .” 

It seemed to have worked, and I have a pretty powerful punishment tool now.  I only pray that the lesson sinks in when they’re about to do something even worse.

So that’s the theme - - - be mindful and self-aware, and cognizant of the character you’re creating.

Unfortunately, it is not a theme that runs through all the discussions I have with myself, if I’m honest. The being self-aware part, not the character part. I am hoping that by writing about it, and bringing it to the surface, I can stop it from being a recluse. 

I think we all fall victim to those days when things aren’t going their best; when all you want to do is hide under the covers or hide inside a book, or anything else that will stop the world from spinning far too close to that personal space.  These are the days when that one tenet of human nature – self-awareness – tries to cuddle up beside me, and get lost as well. 

I can’t be the only person that does this.  I know I’m not the only person that does this.  Some people take drugs, get drunk, start a major project and don’t stop working; some people go shopping, some people jump out of airplanes, some people get lost in religious vehemence – anything to avoid considering why they want to escape in the first place.

I did it for a long time.  I recognized that writing was the one place where I couldn’t avoid the ultimate surfacing of my emotional insides.  They have a way of writing themselves out into the open.

Like Paige blaming Tony when she was just as culpable, I tend to do that when I feel crappy about myself.  I blame the rain for not allowing me to clean my back deck; I blame work for not allowing me to write; I blame others for having opinions and thoughts that differ from my own.  I conjure up excuses for not writing, when if I would just take the time to think about it, I’d realize that I’m not writing because I want to avoid not being able to write; I’m not cleaning my windows (whatever the task!) because they’ll just get dirty again. . . or if I get angry at someone or something, I find excuses to blame them or it, rather than dig deep to figure out why I’m angry and why I’m letting it control me to the point where I don’t want to do anything but open that book or hide under those covers.

Maybe it’s a waste of time to keep trying to figure out the world.  Maybe it’s an excuse to stop living in it.  Or maybe it’s the only way, for me personally, to get moving. 

Oddly enough, when Tony carved his name, and Paige made it pretty, they gave me the string of words I needed to make sense of what I had been considering for nearly a week.  They gave me the words I needed in order to answer the “whys”.

There are consequences to be considered.  There are tasks to be completed.  There are priorities that need to be discovered.  One of which is the priority of the self.

For me, it’s the self that wants to ramble on and on in order to have an excuse to do what I love to do, and to continue to figure out who I am.  I realize that now.

And if the ramblings come to an end for the day, I can always go pick weeds out of the garden, and hope for another lesson from it.