MEMOIRIST IDOL

My Wife Wanted To Leave, I Wanted To Stay

An unexpected parenting lesson

It’s a Sunday in July, and I make a suggestion to my wife. A summer concert in the park. There will be a band playing jazz music from the 1920s, and it will be our first time going to a summer concert in the park as a family.

Food, music, a blanket. What could go wrong?

After laying down our blanket, my son scarfs down some Vienna sausages, and we run down the hill to the playground, climb up a blue metal play structure, and reach the top of a twisting, 20-foot enclosed tube slide.

A cluster of kids clogs the entrance, and after waiting a moment, my son zips down and I spiral down after him, and we climb immediately back up.

My son and I have an endorphin buzz and become adrenaline junkies. He goes down again, then peers at kids as they come down, laughing at the silliest things — so much has the adrenaline buzz taken over his brain.

A girl releases a high-pitched squeal, and the warm sunshine, ocean breeze, endorphin buzz, and squeal create an effervescent glow on my son’s face. I am happy to see my son so happy.

The phone call

Uh-oh. This is the moment I feared.

Things could take a turn for the worse.

My wife says the concert is about to start, and I have a dilemma on my hands: How do I interrupt my son’s joy and get him back to the blanket on the hill without having a problem?

Parents, you know what I’m saying.

At four, my son likes to scratch me when he gets frustrated, and the scratch marks on my forearm attest to his mode of communication and his difficulty with making transitions.

I think fast.

“Want to go see the tuba?” I say, knowing how much he liked tubas from The VeggieTales Show.

This is the one strategy I’ve learned through parent training as a part of my son’s autism therapy to encourage him to make transitions:

Present a positive reinforcer to ease him to compliant behavior.

And it works.

A sweet and sour moment

My son and I look at the tuba, trumpet, and trombone on the way to our blanket. I notice the P.E. teacher at my school is the drummer.

Then I experience the rare bliss of parents of young kids under a canopy of swaying trees, lying on my side on a blanket, relaxing, and listening to the whimsical sound and lyrics of jazz as it wafts up the hillside to our ears:

S. O. S., S. O. S., Captain we are lost, Our ship is wallowing in the sea, by wind and wave we’re tossed, Lifeboats here, lifeboats there, Hear the shrieks and groans, The captain calls “All hands on deck!” and says in trembling tones:

Oh, how I wish’t I was in Peoria, Peoria tonight. Oh how I miss the “goils” in Peoria, Peoria, tonight. Oh you can pick a morning gloria right off the sidewalks of Peoria. Oh, how I wish’t I was in Peoria, Peoria tonight.

— “I Wish’t I Was in Peoria

My son is lying with his head on my hip. I am lost in the music like the ship in the lyrics and the music transports me to a simpler era. I close my eyes and imagine boys tossing a football around like you rarely see anymore.

I see girls flutter by in summer dresses.

Then, for whatever reason, my wife wants to leave after one song, and now, I understand my son’s difficulty in making transitions: Anger.

My epiphany

I feel angry because for one minute the music carries me away in my imagination to a park on a balmy Sunday afternoon in a Midwestern town like Peoria in the 70s, and then, my bliss comes to a halt when my wife wants to leave.

But now, I know how my son feels when it’s time to turn off the TV.

Or when it’s time to leave the park.

Or wash his hands for dinner.

Now I know I need to “prime” him by preparing him for a transition — “It will be time to turn off the TV in five minutes or we have to leave the park soon”— before making a transition from a “preferred” to a “less-desired” activity.

This is what I needed — priming from my wife — to not become so frustrated after she wanted to leave after hearing one song, and I suspect my son feels the same way when he has to make a transition from a preferred activity.

It took me 15 minutes before I let go of my anger and make room for another feeling: gratitude for this look into my son’s emotions.

My parenting takeaway

Preparing my son for transitions has made it easier for him and me, thanks to priming. He left the playground with no frustration and I had no scratch marks running down my arms.

To say “it’s time to go” when a child is in the middle of their fun is like ripping a slice of pizza out of someone’s hand before they take a bite and then wondering why they get upset.

Even though my son is now 14, priming still works with him — and it isn’t just for kids. It works for adults when making a transition.

Priming is all about preparing a child for change … a parent letting a child know a change is coming but giving them time to adjust in their emotions to the transition.

I better tell my wife about my dentist appointment later today.

Thanks for reading my story. If you want to remember what it was like in the backseat at prom when you were seventeen, Deb Groves Harman’s story gets steamy in a way that might bring back some memories you’ve forgotten.

Or check out my YouTube video on how to create an arc in a memoir story.