Relationships

I was sitting in the backseat of a taxi, in Addis Ababa.  We were winding our way through the Saturday afternoon traffic like a cow in a cattle drive.  Each time we stopped, there were beggars at the window trying to get my attention, vying for money, food, anything I was willing to give.

Yohannes and I had just had lunch with an Ethiopian-born friend of mine, from Calgary, who was in Addis visiting family.  It was my first trip to Ethiopia; it was the spring of 2006.  We had made the lengthy journey, from Canada, a week or so ago, to complete the final step in the adoption process - to bring our newest family member into our fold.  Yohannes was around two when we adopted him.

Yohannes was sitting on my lap, in the backseat of the cab; he was fascinated by the window crank.  He would roll the window down, look at me with his lips formed into a small ‘O’, and then roll the window back up and smile.  It was pure childish delight.  I was weary and tense.  This was the first time in our few short days together that I had ventured out with my new son, on my own – without my husband. 

Prior to joining our family, Yohannes had spent several months in an orphanage and then a (group) foster home.  He was little.  It is quite likely that there was only marginal variation in his days.  The concrete driveway, outer walls and buildings that contained him were dull in comparison to what he was witnessing now, in our midst.  His senses were likely tingling.  This was exciting.  Moreover, he had a consistent lap to sit in.

After a time, I wanted him to stop rolling the window down – particularly when the car slowed and was surrounded by destitute people hoping that this ferenge (foreigner) had something to share, something to change even a moment of their life.  I grew tired of being touched and beseeched by the never-ending stream of poverty-stricken men, women and children – despite my compassion.  I told Yohannes to stop.  He didn’t.  I used what little Amharic I knew to tell him to stop.  He didn’t.  I grabbed his hand and held it in mine, and told him to stop.  He didn’t, and in fact he resisted.

There was a man in the front seat, a cousin to my good friend.  He turned to me and said, “Hit him.”  In confusion, I replied, “What?” He explained to me that children in Ethiopia would only stop something when they were hit and therefore, this child (my child) would not respond to me unless I hit him.  It was profoundly uncomfortable.  Clearly, I was not going to hit him, but moreover I wanted to communicate that there was another way.  I simply and quietly said, “That is not how we do it.”  He gave me a smug look as if to say, Suit yourself, it ain’t gonna work. 

Years later, perhaps for the hundredth time, I watched as Yohannes resisted our commands and in fact continued (time and time again) to do the very thing that he had been asked to stop.  (It is like watching him roll that window up and down all over again, first with glee, and then with fixed determination).  Intellectually, I know that simply telling a child to stop something that they are enjoying is not enough.  When Yohannes was younger, I used distraction to get him to move away from an incessant and irritating behavior.  And though that may still work, we expect more of him as he ‘grows up’.

Truly, the words that were prophesized back in Ethiopia, over six years ago – often haunt me.  It seems at times that Yohannes, through his behavior, is begging for a good old-fashioned smack.  There are times when he will dig himself into such a deep hole of trouble that one would need a crane to pull him out.  But even a crane would not work because he is so busy complaining and carrying on, that he wouldn’t notice that help had arrived.  If he is in trouble, he will deny that he has any part in it – even if he is the only person there.  Next, he will argue and talk back until you feel as if you might pull out your hair.  And finally, when you ask him to leave (in pure and utter frustration), he will not leave.  He roots himself to the ground to plead his case, to frustrate and cajole the adult in charge and to give plenty of his ‘do whatever you want to me, I will not give’ attitude. 

It is in those moments when we truly get to know ourselves.  Yes, ourselves.  These children are most definitely the best teachers that we (will ever) have, for they will bring us to our wits end, and then see how we respond.  They are not doing it on purpose – they are just intrinsically gifted. 

In those moments, there have been times when I have used physical force to remove Yohannes from my presence.  I have pushed, shoved, and prodded him, in order to get him to do as I have asked. In those instances Yohannes always acquiesces.  However, we separate with our heads hung low; there is a loss of dignity.  Fortunately, I have learned a lot over these years about repairing ruptures and I always make time for reconciliation, once we are both calm. Furthermore, the majority of time, I walk away from the impending rupture or adopt a spirit of inquiry and compassion with my emotional son.

But the bigger question that comes again and again on this journey is: How do you discipline, negotiate and reason with a child who is used to having boundaries defined through physical means, how do we teach them that there is another way?  After our second adoption, I was walking out of our community school with our then ten-year-old daughter, who had been in our family for less than a year, when she told me that there are some things that she liked better about Ethiopia. 

"Of course", I calmly said, "like what?"  

“We-ll”, she began, “Canada - you do something wrong, you lose privileges. 

“Uh-huh”, I mused. 

“Ethiopia - you do something wrong – thwack”, she said.

“Oh, I see”, I said, somewhat sadly, “Which one do you like better?”

“Ethiopia”, she said, matter-of-factly.

“WHAT!?” I asked, “Seriously? . . .  “Thwack is better?”

“Yes” she answered, “make mistake, thwack – then go back to playing. No lose privileges.”

“Oh, I see”, I said. 

I was thoroughly baffled.  In a million years I would not have expected to have this particular conversation with a child who had ‘grown up’ being hit.  It was enlightening. 

But the illumination was that consequences for our actions and behaviors, when the consequences are something that the child enjoys and desires, are far more upsetting to our children and therefore will provide the motivation necessary to change.  In the same light positive consequences when we catch our children ‘doing good’ will also give them fuel to continue to do good.

In the end, we are all human, so there is no perfect way to parent – not here, not in Ethiopia.  I have plenty of opportunities to grow as a person while parenting my kids; I only have to find the pause button and chose which pathway to take.  And when I, in my flawed humanness, cannot locate the pause button and therefore stumble headlong into a place that I did not intend to go, I find the courage and integrity to step in, apologize and repair.  Relationships are the outcome.