There was a fully hosted bar. The wedding guest rested one foot on the railing of the bar, caught the bartender’s eye, and motioned to his empty glass. “Hit me again”, his silent gaze seemed to say.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, son?” the bartender said quietly.
The guest looked at the bartender with sad hazel eyes. “Please”, he said with a catch in his voice.
The bartender took pity, and filled the glass with a dark liquid, adding a squirt of something red. My five year old son Jackson said “Thank you”, and walked off with his fifth cherry coke.
My cousin walked past me, laughing. “Jackson sure looks at home at that bar. That kid cracks me up!”
Sigh. I worry about that boy.
Dear Jackie, what am I going to do with him? He tries to climb the stacks of Pepsi 12 packs at the grocery store, and hides on the shelf behind huge packages of paper towels at Target, ignoring my frantic calls. He delights in torturing his older sister, who is so sensitive. He knows every button she has, and pushes them at will. He has repeatedly dumped out entire bottles of shampoo in the bathtub to make bubbles or wash his Rescue Heroes. Tonight he deliberately threw rice in my water glass at the dinner table, laughing until he saw my look, then saying belatedly, “Oops. That was an accident.” At five years old he still throws tantrums, wrapping his arms around my legs in an attempt to hold me hostage until I agree to his demands. No punishment, no incentive seems to reach him.
Yet this same child, who is most likely of my three to drive me back to the bar for a refill, is also the most likely to spontaneously hug you and tell you he loves you. He can be happily playing with toys, will look up for a moment to say “I love you, Mommy”, and go right back to his play. He even tells his sister he loves her, between button pushings. He remembers to thank me for the small things, like making more lemonade, or washing his favorite shirt.
This contradiction in Underoos asks more questions about life, love, God, death, and heaven. After nighttime prayers with his Daddy, he told my husband, “I love you, Daddy. Even when you get old and die, I’ll never forget you.”
One night his sister Julia asked at the dinner table “What does steak come from again? I forget.” I opened my mouth to say “cows”, when Jackson piped up and said,
“It comes from God, Julia. God made everything. He loves us, so he gives us food to eat.”
My sister wonders at his range. How can one child be so blatantly disobedient yet so loving and sensitive?
When Jackson was born, our pediatrician, with whom we have a wonderful relationship, was busy giving birth to twins. When she returned to her practice and met Jackson for the first time, she held him in her arms and looked intently into his eyes. “Julia will always be our angel”, she said, “but this one…there’s something special about this one.”
Yes, his spirit is larger than life. What will become of this child of mine? Will he be president or criminal (or worse, both)? Watching him terrorize the household, my uncle once laughingly commented, “Better put bars on his windows now, so he can get used to them!”
Recently we started giving Jackson an allowance for completing simple chores, and thus discovered his avarice. Well, maybe we could use this to both our advantage. After misbehaving dreadfully on allowance day in spite of several warnings, my husband sentenced Jackson to surrendering one of the two dollars he had received. He was very proud of his allowance. This will hit him where he lives, we thought. He was upset for a moment, but then calmly took his remaining dollar, made copies on the copy machine, colored them green, and cut them out with safety scissors.
“Now I have lots of money!” he said gleefully. “Do you want another one, Daddy?”
Oh my. Our son the generous counterfeiter. We are so proud.