My eldest son and I have verbally jousted and butt heads since conception. Those things that will serve him well later in life – a sharp tongue, quick wit, and killer perseverence and strive to be independent – right now can be a real pain in the you-know-what. Parents, you know of what I speak.
So yesterday my boys and I venture into my less than favorite big box office supply store (sacrifice we made rather than adding car miles to our daily footprint). Today’s case in point on the parental battlefront: a new math binder.
“Choose a new binder for yourself.” I let the phrase escape my lips without considering that his fierce independence would put the Betty-approved 100% recycled binder squarely in last place on his list.
Of course he picks up the Made in Taiwan, bleached paper, 0% recycled paper, dead tree variety and begins to dig in his heels in that familiar way. “This one,” he declares.
I sigh. “Nope. Sorry, Pal. I’m not buying that one.” And I go through the litany of environmental offenses and call up our family love of trees.
“But you said…” I know and that was before your mother remembered that she’s Betty and I can no more bring herself to buy that binder than go thru the McDonald’s drive through, I think to myself. “That one has a leaf on it,” he states his main objection.
“OK so X out the leaf when we get home, if you don’t like it.”
He’s glaring now.
“Choose one of these made from recycled paper. See? Look. This one has guitars on it and no trees were harmed in the making of this one and we love our trees, right?”
He is unmoved.
And I know this is about differentiation and choice and all that developmental shmah. I could have easily caved here. We’re both tired and after all it’s only one notebook, right. But that’s really not the way I run my life. I believe small acts of love add up to make a difference. I say this in an aisle piled ten-feet high with bleached white paper, imagining thousands upon thousands of these black and white composition books in stores everywhere. And I want to show my son that our choices DO make a difference.
I hold my ground. After several uncomfortable minutes he reaches for the recycled notebook with the leaf.
Phew. Trees: 1pt. I give him a shoulder hug. “Good job, Buddy.”
BWB
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