Like father, like son

Son 2 went into a major fury this evening. It was over his chores -- specifically, in this instance, cleaning out the catbox. At the point that he announced he was done, I showed him there was still a lot to do; then I insisted afterwards that he sweep up the spilled cat litter, and pointed out (a couple of times) where he had missed it. I understand that it is a nasty job, but it has to be done; I also understand that from Son 2's perspective, it was really annoying to have lapses called to his attention. Anyway, he blew up: his face was red, his neck was bulging, he was shouting and slamming doors. Wife went to talk to him, but I tried to redirect her. My most immediate concern was that I wanted to avoid her saying (as she has in the past), "Yes, I know Daddy's an ogre -- he's like that to me too and there's nothing to be done about it." But once I had slid her into a different room, I also realized that what Son 2 truly needed more than anything else was to be left alone. Solitude -- time and space to himself -- was what he needed to settle down. And of course I realized this because I recognized absolutely everything he was going through. That could have been me, when I was eleven years old, almost exactly.

Sure enough, he went through exactly the stages I would have expected. For a long time he sat alone in his room; then he came out and buried himself in a book in the living room while I started dinner. At one point he came into the kitchen and announced very matter-of-factly that he had decided he would make himself enjoy dinner whatever it was, so that he could get over his grudge against me. And in fact the boys both liked dinner: it was a nacho casserole, so it tasted heavily of salsa, cheese, and refried beans. Anyway, by the time dinner was over, Son 2 was curling up affectionately on my lap; and as he went to bed he sang out a merry "I love you, Daddy." All better.

It is interesting watching him from the outside, and remembering what it was like to be him.