Teased and Shamed, Anger & Sadness Result
He arrives home in tears; I should have given him a hug. But, I didn't.
My little one, Edward, went to Six Flags with one of his best friends, Lewis, on Saturday. Two other boys were along -- nasty young men who can be serpent-tongued with their language. Venomous.
All day Edward took their abuse, their needling and criticisms of his statements. His friend is too shy to say anything; plus, he doesn't want to estrange anyone. So, I'm guessing, he witnessed the beating with some degree of ambivalence, sadness and confusion.
When he lost his wallet -- and the $80 and newly minted license inside -- Edward's remorse was fertile territory for the sadists to plant their seeds of disgrace. I can only imagine the lack of "fun" he was having on the rides at the park and what a struggle it was to stay somewhat sane and centered.
By the time he returned home around 8pm, his red eyes and sniffling told me that something was up. From the comfort of my brown leather recliner, I paused the mystery I was watching: "I'm sorry." That was my first stab; in hindsight, I should have gotten up and given him a hug and let him cry. I could tell, pretty quickly, that it wasn't just about the money and the license; there was more. I sensed the depth of self-reproach and blaming: "I wanted to punch them!"
At this heightened level of emotion, I knew enough to avoid attempting any traditional problem solving -- that so many men are so predisposed to do. The hurt has to be validated, felt, not distanced. Otherwise, I've learned, there's little chance for healing and plenty of opportunity for "stuffing." Suppressed emotions, I've discovered, always emerge in new twisted, ugly forms later on.
All I could do is validate: "it makes sense to me that you'd be upset." More tears followed; driving is so important to him -- the lost license was going to be another $20 nuisance. "That must have been terrible -- you had to tolerate those idiots all day long? I'm sorry."
If you're reading this and think that I'm a whimp for talking to my young man like this, there's not much I can say to you to convince you that this is the better way for men. For thousands of years, men have struggled with naming, feeling emotions; being vulnerable with each other and their partners: tough guys! Compassion for my fellow humans -- compassion for the planet -- has to begin with compassion for myself; validation and empathy for others is just one step in the process.
I have to remind myself, often, that my boy is just that: he's taller than I, smart and capable. And, he's fragile, too: insecurities just below the surface drive behavior.
Edward wanted to go driving. My sense that his mood might lend itself to using the car as an outlet or an instrument of damage, even self-damage. I also told him that my intuition of danger was strong; I articulated a vision of him being stopped by a policeman; he accepted my advice. So, it was with some reluctance, that, at 1:30am, he chose to drive him and his older brother home. A goofy set of decisions about a backpack led to a stop by a local and, of course, the ticket.
My intuition capital right now? Well, it's risen better than the Dow Jones average.
He arrives home in tears; I should have given him a hug. But, I didn't.
My little one, Edward, went to Six Flags with one of his best friends, Lewis, on Saturday. Two other boys were along -- nasty young men who can be serpent-tongued with their language. Venomous.
All day Edward took their abuse, their needling and criticisms of his statements. His friend is too shy to say anything; plus, he doesn't want to estrange anyone. So, I'm guessing, he witnessed the beating with some degree of ambivalence, sadness and confusion.
When he lost his wallet -- and the $80 and newly minted license inside -- Edward's remorse was fertile territory for the sadists to plant their seeds of disgrace. I can only imagine the lack of "fun" he was having on the rides at the park and what a struggle it was to stay somewhat sane and centered.
By the time he returned home around 8pm, his red eyes and sniffling told me that something was up. From the comfort of my brown leather recliner, I paused the mystery I was watching: "I'm sorry." That was my first stab; in hindsight, I should have gotten up and given him a hug and let him cry. I could tell, pretty quickly, that it wasn't just about the money and the license; there was more. I sensed the depth of self-reproach and blaming: "I wanted to punch them!"
At this heightened level of emotion, I knew enough to avoid attempting any traditional problem solving -- that so many men are so predisposed to do. The hurt has to be validated, felt, not distanced. Otherwise, I've learned, there's little chance for healing and plenty of opportunity for "stuffing." Suppressed emotions, I've discovered, always emerge in new twisted, ugly forms later on.
All I could do is validate: "it makes sense to me that you'd be upset." More tears followed; driving is so important to him -- the lost license was going to be another $20 nuisance. "That must have been terrible -- you had to tolerate those idiots all day long? I'm sorry."
If you're reading this and think that I'm a whimp for talking to my young man like this, there's not much I can say to you to convince you that this is the better way for men. For thousands of years, men have struggled with naming, feeling emotions; being vulnerable with each other and their partners: tough guys! Compassion for my fellow humans -- compassion for the planet -- has to begin with compassion for myself; validation and empathy for others is just one step in the process.
I have to remind myself, often, that my boy is just that: he's taller than I, smart and capable. And, he's fragile, too: insecurities just below the surface drive behavior.
Edward wanted to go driving. My sense that his mood might lend itself to using the car as an outlet or an instrument of damage, even self-damage. I also told him that my intuition of danger was strong; I articulated a vision of him being stopped by a policeman; he accepted my advice. So, it was with some reluctance, that, at 1:30am, he chose to drive him and his older brother home. A goofy set of decisions about a backpack led to a stop by a local and, of course, the ticket.
My intuition capital right now? Well, it's risen better than the Dow Jones average.
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