My three-and-a-half year old son has an innate understanding of human emotions. He is sensitive to feelings; infact a little more than what adults can imagine from a child of his age. While I as a mother read and discuss about parenting to bring him up in the best possible way, it is he who more often than not teaches me with his gestures and behaviour about kindness in handling relationships.
I enjoy making little play things for him with cardboard boxes. I was making a small toy petrol bunk that day. I was excited about the fun he would have in stopping by his toy vehicles at the petrol bunk and pretend play filling fuel in them. It’s a beautiful feeling of anxiety which all doting moms can relate to.
However, the little boy wouldn’t let me work in peace. For a long time, he kept disturbing me on the name of help. He thought cutting the cardboards with scissors and doing the pasting work with fevicol is a kind way to help his mom at work. Definitely, an admirable goodness! However, his goodness was rather a huge trouble to me. He was making randoms cuts and joints haphazardly. I let him explore the craft work for a while after which my anxiety in completing the petrol bunk began overtaking my patience. The more I restricted his messy exploration, more were his tantrums which soon turned to loud cries and snatching of my working tools. At a point when my patience crossed its threshold, I yelled at him with all my energy from the guts. I stopped working on the petrol bunk, announced that there shall be no more play things for him and left the room coldly. My screams sent a cold shiver in his little heart, silencing him in a state of shock.
Home saw a deserted quietness for the next few minutes. My blood was gushing at a high speed. And I rested on the sofa with eyes closed. The guilt of having behaved rudely to my little boy felt irreparable. My agitated thought process was trying hard to justify the act though it knows the insensibility beneath the rage. Not that it was the first time I had screamed at him but the heaviness of having hurt him kept pinning me down and down. My emotions dwindled between getting more aggressive and feeling pity for my boy. I wanted to get to him to console him but my residual anger wasn’t letting me do. That’s when I felt his small hands slowing settling down on my laps. When I opened my eyes, lo! there was a beautiful moment awaiting my being. A tiny apologetic face that sincerely shadowed his state of fear voiced, “Sorry ma.”
Shouldn’t I be the one to rescue the hurt little heart? Instead, the hurt little heart was standing in front of me with an apprehension of whether his sorry would get accepted or not. That was the moment – the moment when the core of my turmoil collapsed into pieces; the moment when joy and pride overcame my emotions of guilt and shame; the moment when life reminded me the power of love for the nth time! With little drops of love at my eyes’ corners, I smiled. Waiting for this signal from me, he jumped onto my lap and hugged me tight. “I will be a good boy, ma,” his voice echoed into my love-drenched ears.
What Magic in the Warmth of Love and Forgiveness?!
With multiple roles I am bound to play as a stay-at-home mom combined with an obsession for orderliness, I have sadly been a screaming parent to my toddler son, several times. In spite of realizing the bad effects it would have on a tender, growing-up child, I lose control of the moment at times. In a situation where a boy of his age will be expected to load himself with even more cries, he made his way to his mad mother and buried his own fears, he was struggling with, to present what best he could in order to revive his upset mom’s composure. Certainly, there’s so much maturity to learn from this doting son!