“You’re the worst!”
A Short Adventure in Parenting.
I’m probably not the best parent at all times. I get caught up in the day-to-day and forget that my kids are just that, kids. I focus a lot on work to try to give them a childhood that was better than my own. I think that’s most parents’ goal. But, according to my six-year-old, I am the worst.
While he doesn’t have a solid grasp on the things my wife and I try to teach him and his younger sister about how to function as full-sized humans, we try our best. We try to instill patience, empathy, and understanding, but I’m the worst.
When things don’t go according to plan, like they normally do when tiny humans are involved, and we don’t get to everything he had planned, I am definitely the worst. I think I could be better if I had at least 36 hours in a day.
Last week, I got home from work, and he had apparently been working on a shopping list, a very toy-heavy shopping list. He was very excited to show me all the cool stuff he had found. Godzilla figures, Marvel legos, some other little guy with horns all filled his shopping cart. I was by far the worst I had ever been when I didn’t let him check out. The breakdown was one for the ages, tears, coughs from crying so hard, and oh man the screaming. It’s taken me years to understand that the best thing I can do is walk away and not get angry, but in those moments, clarity hits.
He recently started first grade. The work is harder, he doesn’t have many of his kindergarten friends in class this year, and not to mention 2020–2021 has been a heck of a decade. He’s probably stressed. He’s still just a kid, and coping skills just aren’t the same when you are a kid. I walked back into his room and scooped him up. Bear hug time. After he calmed down, and we talked about his day, his life at school, and what was bugging him, he looks at me with those eyes that look like mine and said, “Dad, I love you”, I didn’t feel like the worst anymore.
But then disaster struck…
Today, Labor Day, it was pizza at 9:45 in the morning.
“I want a Little Caesar’s cheese pizza.” said my tiny twin.
“Dude, they aren’t open, and we don’t know what we are doing for lunch yet,” I replied.
“YOU’RE THE WORST,” he screamed at me and stormed off to his room.
Now, I don’t get upset anymore when he utilizes this tactic to try to guilt me, but it still stings. He’s smart, he can command a room when he wants to, his imagination is second to none, but occasionally, he’s just mean.
I try to think back to my childhood about my outbursts, but I think I’ve blocked those off. It’s just a play to gain the upper hand, but he still got no pizza, and I am still the worst. Maybe, it would be better if I just got the pizza.
I’m really not the worst.
I know I’m not the worst, but I do feel like it every so often. I think I have come to empathize with my parents, having kids of my own now. It’s not easy, but as long as we keep trying to do better than we did the day before, we really aren’t the worst, even if you don’t get the pizza.