Children | Childcare | Family |

How Do I Gain a Child’s Trust?

A Lori Tale

Lori is my child muse. When life is complicated, I bring Lori to me for her innocence and her simplistic views on the world, and the creativity she brings to my work.

Lately, my grandchildren, born three months apart, have learned the meaning of ‘no’, but only from their point of view, and they like to use it frequently.

It is the first I have encountered it, having taken one of them out to lunch. I left the restaurant, feeling embarrassed at my grandchild’s behavior, having ordered what he would like from the child’s menu, then deciding upon its arrival he didn’t want it, and made sure we knew he didn’t.

I didn’t feel equipped to deal with a tantrum, though I have since tried to ascertain what had happened that prompted this sudden behavior.

Feeling sad, having returned the child to his parents, I’m now at home and doing some research. Gosh, how things have changed. When a child, I had the habit of going into tantrums, though I was older.

From the moment I was adopted, I was always her son, and proud to be, and if asked; yes, I had some disagreeable behavior. The fact is I don’t remember mum or me having to resort to therapy. She would hold me in her arms, quiet me, and when I felt safe, she would set me free.

Sometimes I stayed in her arms a long time.

Mr. Harry… help me with the gate, will you?

We all know who this is, right? Yep, you guessed it.

Coming, Lori.

As I help with the gate, I can’t help noticing that Lori looks, you know, older, not a toddler anymore. Does even my gentle muse age?

Golly, I love your dress, Lori. It certainly matches the afternoon.

She looks up at me and beams, her fiery red locks dancing in the breeze, and her summer dress, with delicate floral patterns in hues of pink and yellow perfectly capturing the essence of the day.

What are you reading, Mr. Harry? It looks serious. Are you not writing today?

Lori has always been a curious muse, never content with ‘Oh it’s nothing interesting, Lori.’

She sits on the bench beside me, and I wonder what happened to the days when I had to lift her so she could sit next to me? She’s looking at her feet, tiny toes wiggling from her open toed sandals.

Do you think I’m ever naughty, Mr. Harry?

Naughty? Lori, I ask, faking confusion, but always surprised that what is in going on in my head is going on in hers.

Yes, that I misbehave.

And do you, Lori? Do you misbehave?

Mr. Harry, I’m a child. Of course, I misbehave. Not all the time. Sometimes.

Lori pushes forward off the bench and drops her feet to the ground.

Around her wrist, a stack of colorful bangles jingles softly as she moves, adding a touch of whimsical melody to her every step. Each bracelet boasting a different summery shade, reminiscent of a rainbow spreading its vibrant colors across the sky after a refreshing summer rain.

Mr. Harry, sometimes I think you forget that every child is unique, and what works for one child’s misbehavior isn’t necessarily what works for another child. We have individual needs and temperaments, Mr. Harry. What we need most is a consistent understanding, not just when we are little angels, but little devils, too. Don’t you get it, Mr. Harry, we are testing out your trust, your love, so mostly we need your patience.

In my grandchildren’s lives, their parents are superheroes who can conquer any challenge and make their world a better place. But what happens now that both my grandchildren have discovered Kryptonite?

On page 15 of the book lying next to me on the bench, it tells of children who struggle to express themselves verbally.

Books offer help, Mr. Harry, but not always solutions. I’m a child, I know a child’s problems inside out.

You do, that’s quite a thing to know, Lori.

We are children, Mr. Harry. In the beginning, we are learning to communicate. We are learning language, mannerisms, and emotions. But the quickest thing we learn is how to get what we need, not discipline. We love praise, which is why I enjoy coming to see you, Mr. Harry. You are gentle with me, always. Do you know what is so important about that?

Well, I’m not sure, Lori.

Do you remember when I first came to see you, you told me: ‘When life is complicated, you said you bring me to you for my innocence and my simplistic views on the world and the creativity I bring to your work.’

Yes, Lori, I remember very well.

You made the decisions on what kind of child you wanted me to be, everything I am is the how you created me. You could have brought me to you as a small boy, a muse of a different kind. But that would have been too painful, wouldn’t it Mr. Harry?

Yes, too painful.

When children are in pain, Mr. Harry, when they feel misunderstood, they act out. It’s communication, sometimes primitive, but always looking for understanding. You’ve helped me grow, Mr. Harry. Shouldn’t you help grow your grandchildren?

I felt embarrassed, Lori. I felt shame that my grandchild would act in such a way.

You’re not the only grandparent that would act as you did, escaping the situation and not making it a teaching moment. Do you know the expression when a child feels left out of a group, he takes his ball home?

Yes, Lori. I’ve not only heard it, I’ve done it, back when I was a child.

No, Mr. Harry. You did it at lunchtime today. You were upset that your grandchild was embarrassing you. You took him home.

I did, Lori. My grandchild was screaming, pushing me away.

What did your mother do in that situation, Mr. Harry, and remember, you were a big boy, weren’t you?

She wrapped me in her arms till I was quiet.

Your mother was communicating with you, you’re safe, Mr. Harry. She was saying to you, I won’t run away from you. I’m here, and we will see this through. That’s the message your mother was speaking, Mr. Harry.

Whenever my mother held me, I marveled at the world from that new perspective. Mum felt so warm, and that warmth was her love enveloping me. I trusted that no matter what happened, she would always keep me safe.

I’ve got to go, Mr. Harry.

Really? Lori. I wish you’d stay, I’m not sure what to do. I was angry. I didn’t want to be.

No, Mr. Harry, you were frightened. You were scared for him. When he thought he had lost control he resorted to communicating his upset. He needed holding tight, Mr. Harry.

Yes, I didn’t help him, did I? Lori.

We are all learning, Mr. Harry. Help me with the gate, will you?

I’ve never had to deal with a tantrum where Lori is concerned. Maybe if I could create the temperament of my grandchildren, I wouldn’t have to deal with theirs. But a child isn’t a perfect thing once learning becomes their focus, language must be learned before they can speak, always testing, daring us to walk away.

I failed my grandchild at a vital stage where I could have taught him love and safety. Dealing with toddler tantrums can be challenging, but I could have stayed calm. I could have let him know that I wanted to understand his feelings, even when I didn’t agree with his behavior.

I didn’t provide him safety, choosing to remove him from the situation for my comfort than understand his need.

I’m a granddad, with so much to learn.

More Lori Tales from Harry:

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