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.
