A Pilgrim’s Digression

Contrary to what I learned from Ayn Rand long ago, I’ve come to see selfishness not as a virtue, but as the central problem of humanity. Although I do not wish to undercut Paul’s claim that the love of money is the root of all evil, I think that selfishness may well be a contender for the heavyweight title.

That said, it pains me to say that I believe our son can be a very selfish little boy. Defined as caring only for one’s own interests and needs and disregarding other people’s feelings, the term “selfish” has no positive connotations, as far as I am concerned.

I am sure in many ways, B. is not unusually selfish for a six year old. After all, he is in that stage of development dominated by ego. Some people never grow out of that stage and even as adults view their own personal happiness as of paramount concern. In some ways, I rank myself among these selfish people, who constantly strive, worry, and fret about their happiness, to the detriment of the happiness of all those around them.

On the other hand, it is frustrating that despite an apparent willingness to be a better person, B. has trouble feeling empathy, or even sympathy for other creatures.

At the risk of highlighting only his bad moments, let me give some examples.

Despite my best efforts to teach B. how to treat the dog, I still find myself constantly scolding him. One day this weekend, I actually caught him holding her up by her back legs, and laughing as if it were the funniest thing. I yelled at him and sent him to his room, then soon after went in to talk to him.

“Why do you do this?” I asked. “Every day I have to yell at you for hurting the dog in some way, but this just takes the cake. You could have seriously injured her!”

His response was to tear up and, red-faced and hoarse, he said, “I don’t know. I just don’t know how to treat a dog.”

I said, “Yes, you do. I’ve told you many times. I’ve shown you how to play with her so that you don’t hurt her, and so she doesn’t hurt you. Why can’t you do it?”

His response was the same: “I don’t know why.”

Is it lack of self-control? Lack of empathy? I’ve tried the “what if I did that to you” tactic to get him to feel the pain the dog must feel. But it just doesn’t work. I have sat with B. and the puppy in the floor and showed him how to play tug of war with the dog and an old slipper without ripping her teeth out. I’ve showed him how to properly pick her up and hold her, placing his hand under her breastbone; still, he grabs her in a choke hold or around the middle, squeezing far too tightly.

I am literally at my wit’s end. I do not think he is too young for a pet, but maybe he is too selfish. I keep hoping that having a pet will teach him to love something other than himself, but so far it does not seem to be working.

Or I should say, he does love her, but does not understand how to appropriately translate his love into action. His greatest pleasure is to come home from being out and to have the dog jump up on him in obvious joy. But then he immediately does something that hurts her–either choking her with a hug, or squeezing her so tightly around the middle that she yelps.

I don’t know how much of this is unintentional, how much is lack of impulse control, and how much is malicious. Obviously, picking a dog up by its hind legs is intentionally malicious. Hugging a dog too tightly may be considered poor self-control or lack of understanding of the animal’s feelings.

Another example would be B.’s behavior towards Lynn and I. He seems to have become more disobedient of late. Whether this is attributable to J. coming to live with us, I don’t know. I don’t see a connection. But nothing else has changed, lately.

This morning, as usual, B. was up before seven. Only this morning, instead of simply lying in bed with his mother until she got up, he wanted to watch cartoons. Lynn told him no, it’s too early. She felt he needed to at least rest in bed, if not get some more sleep. Also, she did not want to babysit him with TV while she continued to sleep.

Instead of listening to his mother, B. got out of bed and went towards the bedroom door.

“What are you doing?” Lynn asked.

“I’m going to watch cartoons,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” Lynn said.

“Yes, I am,” B. said.

Well, Lynn can still inspire a considerable amount of fear of retribution in the boy, so this little spat did not last long. B. ended up back in bed. But it would not have happened at all not so long ago. I’ve never really known him to be intentionally defiant like that.

Anyway, back in bed, he decided that if he couldn’t watch cartoons, he would pester the dog. Lynn told him not get the dog wound up, and he deliberately set about teasing her until she was growling and romping and playing with him on the bed.

At this point, Lynn took the dog and left the room, shutting the door and telling B. he was staying in bed, all alone, until he could learn to listen to his mother.

What a way to start the day, though.

I suggested to Lynn that maybe with J. in the house, B. is testing his limits again to see how far he can get. I still am not sure of the relation between the two events, but it is at least somewhat possible.

In other ways, B.’s behavior disturbs us. Lynn and I are spendthrifts who have never had a problem buying him a multitude of toys. We buy whatever we desire for ourselves, too. Yet this has led him to become a child who needs nothing, but wants everything; a child who regards every trip to Wal-Mart as a birthday shopping trip.

Furthermore, his lack of empathy has generated some not-too-amusing verbal exchanges. For example, the other day in the car, he said something to the effect, “Mom, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you are fat.” I told him immediately that he should never say that to anyone, least of all his mother, and that adding “I don’t want to hurt your feelings” did not make it any better.

By emphasizing only the negative, I perhaps overstate the case. He’s a very bright kid. By the end of Kindergarten this year, he could already read quite well and do simple math problems in his head–the latter, he can do better than me, in fact. One day last weekend, we were working on some summer “bridge” activities in a workbook, and faced with a group of objects he could immediately count them without actually “counting” them. He just knew how many objects were in the group by sight. And he could add or subtract from them in his head.

He gets along well with other kids. Indeed, he is very sociable and friendly. I’ve observed him during play dates, and he is never happier than when playing with other kids in a sandbox or running around the yard. He doesn’t fight or argue with other kids, and he shares his toys without a problem. In fact, he has a tendency to give his toys away, if we aren’t watching him.

Lynn has suggested that his bad behavior is solely in response to us, not necessarily an ingrained trait. That leaves the question of what are we doing wrong?

Speaking for myself, I know I am too lenient. I tend to bribe him to be good. For example, yesterday, I took him to Vacation Bible School, and he did not really want to go. When I opened his car door, he said, “I’m glued to my seat.”

“What will it take to unglue you from your seat?” I asked, jokingly. “A kiss?”

“No, a trip to Wal-Mart,” he said.

Startling answer. But I regrettably told him yes. I yell at him enough as it is. It was early in the morning, and I had not had enough bad experiences for my temper to be thin. I just wanted him to go to VBS without a fuss. So I told him yes.

Later, I told Lynn what I had promised him. She was understandably upset, especially so because after VBS, we took him to a restaurant for lunch and he was very naughty. As usual, he did not pay attention to anyone or anything around him, and he almost knocked someone over. Then, when Lynn told him he could not have any ice cream, he got up to go to the dessert bar on his own. At this point, we decided we had had enough, and we left.

But did we take away the trip to Wal-Mart as punishment? No, we didn’t. Later, when we discussed what we did wrong in that situation, Lynn said we couldn’t have gone back on the promise I’d made him. I said, “Yeah, but he was the one that broke the promise, in a way, by being so naughty at the restaurant.” We should not have bought him a toy from Wal-Mart. But of course, that realization only came in retrospect, as so often happens in parenting.

Part of my own weakness is borne out of parental guilt. I feel like a failure as a father, and so failure becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Go figure. Such is the pattern of my life.