Right after this, he *almost* let me kiss him. Almost.
My second son, James, is bewildering and bedeviling in shifting measures, like all offspring, but I have been feeling for a while lately that, while he’s as capable as his big brother of winning or crushing my heart, I understand him better. To put it in actorly terms, I have flashes of brilliance and insight, dealing with him, where I can totally see his motivation.
Why? Because I am he, and he is me. Replace his penis and dormant male hormones with girl parts, let his hair grow (not a a lot, but a little; at his age my mom kept my hair cut in an early-70s pixie, the better to suit my superfine strands), stick him in Dr. Brown’s Delorean set for 2010, and he’d be me. First, in looks. Here’s a pic of me and my sister, when I was around 4:
That's me on the left, with the mini dress (cute, right?) and the Mr. Spock hairdo.
And then here’s James at more or less the same age as I am in the photo above. Also, you’ll note, he’s with his brother. I have more photos of him alone than my parents did, thanks in large part to easier photo technology, but still it’s harder to find photos of him than of his big brother, or without his big brother:
That's James on the left. It occurs to me that he hams it up in photos, with Daniel as straight man. Just like me and my sister.
Here’s how he’s like me in other than looks:
- He’s gregarious, entertaining, smart and funny (what, you don’t think I am, too?!). That is, when he feels safe. Otherwise, he appears either painfully shy or snootily standoffish.
- He’s got a dramatic streak 14 miles wide. Direct quotes: “Oh, now we’ll never get there!” (said on a normal-length trip to Grandma’s house marred solely by a short spate of traffic buildup); or “You never make macaroni and cheese” (which I do make pretty darned often, thankyouverymuch); or “I bumped my head and it really, really, really hurts,” when it quite obviously was the lightest possible bump in the history of kids’ bumped heads.
- He’s a loyal friend, and even at the tender age of 5 1/2, he sees straight through cliquey-ness and cattiness and he instinctively avoids it. It’s cute to watch, because he has no idea that he’s steering clear of the knot of “in” boys because their interactions appear shallow or showy. He’ll say it’s because they’re too loud.
- He’s not interested, at all, in pleasing grownups who attempt in good-hearted but exaggerated ways to be friends with him. So, teasing and tickling are out, out, out. This of course leads to some bewilderment and temporarily hurt feelings among relatives who don’t see him much, but he’s not giving it away for free, and he sees through a ruse from a mile away, so just don’t try.
I’m musing on this topic for two reasons today. One is that, on this second week of summer camp after school ended, James is only just now easing into that transition. He finished kindergarten, which was a very big deal to him. The other day, when we were in the car and no one else was talking, I heard him say, softly to himself, “why couldn’t I just stay in kindergarten forever?” So my baby is at a turning point, and he’s not sure who he’s supposed to be, the big first grader, or the baby clinging to kindergarten. So while Daniel leaped eagerly from second grade to a return to the summer camp he loves, James has been more needy, so of course he’s on my mind (and keeping me up at night worrying) more than usual.
Which brings me to the second reason I’m mulling my little one’s resemblance to myself, physically and psychically: I’m trying to figure out the most effective way to deal with a child who is, you know, like me. My grandmother, rest her glorious, tart, sweet soul, used to say that you have to parent each kid the way he or she needs to be parented. Which sounds simple and makes sense, until you get to the part where you have to figure out what those needs are.
With James, I have to pull back from saying breezy, distracting things like, “Oh, but you want to go to first grade!” when he misses his happy, collegial kindergarten. Because of course he does want to go to first grade; of course he does know he’s a big boy; he knows that kind of response is a sop to his ego, which he’s not interested in.
He’s not looking to be distracted; he needs to be heard. You can’t play subterfuge with this kid. You just have to say, “yep, of course you miss kindergarten. Of course you do” and leave it at that.
I have to gloss over the dramatics and praise his good-friend status.
And I have to kiss him while he sleeps, because otherwise I’m not allowed. Come to think of it, was I like that, too? Paging my mom…
How do you shift your parenting styles to suit your kids’ needs?
This is an all too familiar topic for me. I blog about it regularly, actually, since my big girl is so much like me it’s scary. And difficult, to be honest. I find myself being angry at her for her traits that I dislike about myself. And then I feel guilty. Last week we had a tooth incident. She refused to let us help her pull it. It came out the way she wanted to come out. I was so angry. Why wouldn’t she just let me pull it out? I’ll bet my midwife was thinking the same thing when I was giving birth to Big Girl. I refused to push or listen to anyone tell me how to push. I wasn’t ready to become a parent and that baby wasn’t coming out until I was ready. Eventually we both did it our way…
Hiya, sweetie. Nice blog!
So many of James’ characteristics that you list are also true of my younger, Katie. Especially 1, 2 and 4. Do you think some of them are typical second born characteristics? So interesting – I have being the second in common with Katie but feel like I understand my firstborn better. I often wonder if my adult self is the one who relates to Natalie better, but if my kid self might have related to Katie more?
Miss you.
Lauren AKA Blondy
Oh, I relate to this so much. I think that my first son – a boy, almost ten – is most similar to me – and we are both first-borns. It’s not until more recently that the traits so similar to me started to emerge, though. My second is not much like me, but I know him very well. It’s my third child who baffles me – a girl, our first girl, and as different from me as you can possibly imagine. I’m shy and serious; she’s gregarious, energetic, spirited, and super-talkative! She’s the one I struggle with parenting right now – perhaps it’s her age too – she is three. I find myself often wondering what she will be like as she gets older.