Friday, April 22, 2005
Rays of hope
Max's favorite television show is a cartoon called Stanley. The main character is a boy Max's age who loves animals. Stanley has three pets: a dog, a cat and a fish named Dennis. In each episode, Stanley learns about a particular animal by looking it up in his "Great Big Book of Everything," which is an encyclopedia of the animal kingdom. Max is fascinated by the idea of such a book. In fact, he has dubbed the wonderful book, The New Way Things Work, his great big book of everything (which it is, sort of, since it explains many scientific and engineering concepts in ways that even I can understand).
Recently Max and I were watching an episode of Stanley in which Dennis concludes that he is no longer Stanley's best friend and decides to run away from home. As Dennis is preparing to leave his fish tank, he sings longingly about what his friendship with Stanley has meant to him and how he'll never forget him. "Mommy, Dennis is sad!" I looked over at Max. His mouth was contorted in despair, tears spilling out of his eyes. Dennis was sad, and so was Max.
But I was very, very happy...not happy that Max was in such distress, but happy that Max could so thoroughly experience someone else's distress. Because in my more neurotic moments, when Max has pushed or hit or bitten someone yet again, I've actually wondered whether he might lack some fundamental capacity for empathy (which, after all, is one of the distinguishing characteristics of psychopaths). At least now I can dispense with that (somewhat irrational) fear. It doesn't completely solve my problem or Max's, but it offers me relief and hope.
This morning, I was blessed with another ray of hope. Araceli and her daughter, Karen, had already arrived by the time Max, Boo and I returned home from an early romp in the park. Karen was sitting outside on the bench looking despondent. Max approached Karen and asked what was wrong. "I can't watch T.V. today because I'm in a time out." Max thought this through for a minute. Then he went into the yard, picked a single white flower and offered it to Karen. "This is for you. Do you feel better now?" Karen shook her head. I headed inside to make lunch, then turned to look out the window. Max had situated himself right beside Karen on the bench and draped his arm around her shoulder. Neither was speaking; Max was just sitting in solidarity with her, sharing her burden. And when he began to gently rub her back, I burst out laughing.
I could expound on the multitude of feelings I had as I looked on: amusement and delight and confusion and fear. But I'm going to table those thoughts for another day. Tonight I'm going to rest on my growing confidence that Max can experience his own feelings and can understand that other people have them, too. Some people never get either of those right.
P.S. Dennis didn't leave after all. What a relief!
Recently Max and I were watching an episode of Stanley in which Dennis concludes that he is no longer Stanley's best friend and decides to run away from home. As Dennis is preparing to leave his fish tank, he sings longingly about what his friendship with Stanley has meant to him and how he'll never forget him. "Mommy, Dennis is sad!" I looked over at Max. His mouth was contorted in despair, tears spilling out of his eyes. Dennis was sad, and so was Max.
But I was very, very happy...not happy that Max was in such distress, but happy that Max could so thoroughly experience someone else's distress. Because in my more neurotic moments, when Max has pushed or hit or bitten someone yet again, I've actually wondered whether he might lack some fundamental capacity for empathy (which, after all, is one of the distinguishing characteristics of psychopaths). At least now I can dispense with that (somewhat irrational) fear. It doesn't completely solve my problem or Max's, but it offers me relief and hope.
This morning, I was blessed with another ray of hope. Araceli and her daughter, Karen, had already arrived by the time Max, Boo and I returned home from an early romp in the park. Karen was sitting outside on the bench looking despondent. Max approached Karen and asked what was wrong. "I can't watch T.V. today because I'm in a time out." Max thought this through for a minute. Then he went into the yard, picked a single white flower and offered it to Karen. "This is for you. Do you feel better now?" Karen shook her head. I headed inside to make lunch, then turned to look out the window. Max had situated himself right beside Karen on the bench and draped his arm around her shoulder. Neither was speaking; Max was just sitting in solidarity with her, sharing her burden. And when he began to gently rub her back, I burst out laughing.
I could expound on the multitude of feelings I had as I looked on: amusement and delight and confusion and fear. But I'm going to table those thoughts for another day. Tonight I'm going to rest on my growing confidence that Max can experience his own feelings and can understand that other people have them, too. Some people never get either of those right.
P.S. Dennis didn't leave after all. What a relief!
2 Comments:
Sometimes it's difficult to see just how empathetic Max really is when he has had a bad day. Is he very much like someone else we know? Is he aggressive? Yes. Competitive? Yes. Is he emotional? Yes. Is he delightful? YES! Is he creative? YES! Is he precocious? YES! Has he been troubled lately by his mother's and father's physical and family concerns? Ah, there might be the key to his bad days. They might be brought on by his empathy for both of you,which he does not quite know how to express, and which he can't do much about. Would it make you feel better if he brought YOU a flower, or rubbed YOUR back?
He is a smart kid. First he brings his girl flowers, and when that doesn't work he shuts up and holds her. That's more sensitve than a lot of guys would be. Let's hope those instincts persist into adulthood. ;-)
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