"Couldn't you pick up something more ... say .... suitable ? Has it to be pink tees and blue jamaicans ? " That vociferation , though softly articulated comment, is met with a wide-eyed, what-do-I-do , flabbergasted expression from my cherub-faced nine-year old junior. And that look, non-verbally said, 'But didn't you ask me to choose ?' The verbal and non-verbal pow-pow between us terminates with my trite "Well, ultimately you have to choose. So, fine Zeph, go ahead."The moppet is left confused and riddled with guilt for his sartorial faux pas of having chosen to don something that the cat had pinched from the cellar !
This, though an instance of a lighter vein, is just one of those many instances when I 'projected' (Long live Sigmund Freud !) my own value confusion on to the hapless kid and goaded him in subtle and not-so-subtle ways to convince him that it was he who was perenially confused. I, being a single parent, and he being a late issue ( while I am currently the biggest issue for him !) and to top it, he being an adopted child, there was a lot of idealism that had been drilled into his head from early childhood.When he was a year old, I started 'educating' him about adoption and how he was 'no less and no better than any other child'. I did not spare any effort to keep him grounded by regularly keeping in touch with and taking him to the child care centre from where he was adopted. All this, in an attempt at being 'honest'. The innocent was taught, like a
keyed-up doll, to say "My dad is my mom too", whenever any of his friends put him to the test of pesky questions. Concepts of sharing were drilled into his tender psyche .While other toddlers of his age would cling to their parents and refuse to allow anyone else to be molly-coddled by them, my little one would merrily allow me to cootchie-coo with any moppet of his age. And the perks were eyebrow-raising compliments raised to his advantage ( 'Such a secure child !'). But there was this one incident which I can never forget,just because it was an antithesis to the above theory.
He was just two years old and had not even broken into speech. On one of those harrowing days,my little one rudely pulled out his closest friend Jaden from the seat next to mine in the car, by non-verbally threatening him with his transparent-as-distilled-water eyes 'Bugger off man.That place,next to my dad, is mine.' I was shocked then,at having failed in drilling effectively the'sharing and caring' regimen.Then, as like today, the little soul was made to feel that he had committed a crime worthy of the fires of hell !
When I look at him today, quiet and more often than not , melancholy,my heart gets wrenched into cogitating on what he might have really missed. These days, his responses are indicative more of what he 'should' do than what he 'would' naturally do under specific circumstances. He is often totally at bay when he has to decide on how he would deal with the simplest of strifes. His sense of belonging to a space and what belongs to him seems to be slowly withering away even before blossoming. Often lost, he shows responses which are below the benchmark set for children of his age. A naive mind, drilled with and by adult idealism, his has umpteen adult questions to ask, with not clue of how to articulate them. The resultant is, a steady plummeting down , into the safe cocoons of regressive baby-like behaviour.
On my part,in my attempt at playing a dual role of a father and a mother, I often seem to be neither here nor there. In an attempt to make him an 'ideal' selfless child, I have almost truncated the growth of his 'self '. And he on his part, is subconsciously smothering the natural growth of his cognitive process. And the effect on me is a constant spate of temper outbursts, which is more conspicuous in the space outside my home. As one wise man (was it Freud ?) aptly put it,'When nations cannot manage the civilized peace at home, they go to war'.
But lest this long drawn confession lures the reader into believing that I am in the clutches of maudlin tempered with self-pity, I would like to take a detour here. Being a kinky,quirk of the ultimate variety, I work best in an atmosphere of negative reinforcement. Hence, what is done shall be undone and what is undone shall be done ! I look at a few silver linings in an otherwise sombre cloud. I take heart when my son refuses to buy the 'Tvameva maata cha pitaa tvameva' ( Dad, you are my mom,dad and the entire universe) bit, when his sedulous friends relentlessly badger him with questions about his mom. He comes out promptly with "I think my mom is dead. When I get to know the real story, I'll share it with you guys. So, till then, why don't we get to know our Play Station better ?'
He may or may not have uttered the truth, but he has learnt to deal with a situation whose verity is dubious. And I, on my part, am not worried that my son has not uttered the truth.
