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Sink or Swim

Posted by on Jun 11, 2012 | 1 comment

Sink or Swim

Jack is interested in all kinds of things.  He loves volcanoes, space, planting things in his garden, and airplanes.  He flings himself full-force into his passions du jour, and wants to know everything there is to know about them.

Now Jack has decided he doesn’t just love airplanes, he wants to fly them. “I want to earn a badge for flying an airplane when I grow up,” he told me recently.  “Badges are my favorite.  They don’t give you badges for flying rocket ships.”

This I did not know.

So, we chat about what kind of planes he wants to fly and where he wants to go.  He has it all figured out.  “I want to fly people to another airport through the clouds.”

So, an airline pilot?  Sounds good.  I start to explain about flight school, and how he’ll need to go there when he’s older.  He stopped me mid sentence: “I just need to figure out which button to push to make the airplane fly.”

That’s when it dawns on me, this is just like swimming.

Jack can’t swim.  At least, he’s never had formal lessons (he will, I promise).  The last time we were at the pool, though, Jack didn’t want our help with anything.  You see, Jack believes he has taught himself how to swim.

This is most inconvenient when faced with an open body of water.  And, you know, the fact that Jack can not, in fact, swim.

The swimmer touches the ocean for the first time.

He would not accept the notion that he didn’t know how to swim.  He explained to us that he simply needed to move his arms like so, and his legs like so, and although he didn’t actually want to put his face in the water like the other people, that would be fine.  See, he’s swimming! (Cue the child almost sinking to the bottom of the pool.)

Jack has now applied his theory of self-education to flight, and is equally stubborn about its certain success.

Jack's flight school. Don't worry, he's got this.

I would recommend you check the credentials of your flight crew the next time you embark on air travel.  Just in case.

 

 

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Mind Games

Posted by on Jan 29, 2012 | 2 comments

Mind Games
Jack’s mind fascinates me.  It’s complex, beautiful, inquisitive and sometimes unnerving.  He is endlessly curious, and has an eye for detail that would put a crime scene investigator to shame.  Most people who know Jack have enjoyed at least small glimpses into the way he thinks, and whether or not they understand his thought processes, they are appreciated.
Occasionally, Jack has encounters with people who don’t know him and aren’t familiar with his particular perspective.  These encounters are usually positive, with one very notable exception.
A few weeks ago, David was out in our townhome complex with the boys as they rode bikes.  Jack and Lennon are on big boy bikes now, so they have a sort of free reign of the immediate vicinity, and are allowed to ride around while David stays with Kieran on his tricycle.  The rule is everyone must stay within earshot, check in frequently, and pull aside for vehicles.

King of the road.

Jack failed to yield to a car coming through the complex, and the woman driving took issue.  He was definitely in the wrong for not getting out of the way, but we live in a complex full of children, so the driver should have also known to be on the lookout for bikes and scooters and wild runaways.  She pulled into her driveway and pounded a path straight to David.
David knew she was upset, so he called Jack over.  The woman unleashed a torrent on Jack, which, apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for.  She started talking about him needing to watch where he’s going, and he interrupted her, “but! but!”
“No buts!” she kept telling him.
David couldn’t look at her.  He knew Logical Jack was about to take the floor, and there would be no mercy.  He stepped back and let Jack handle the situation.
She continued. “When I’m coming, you need to move to the side of the road.”
He looked at her.  “I don’t even know what your car looks like.”
She blinked.  “Any car.  You need to move for any car.”  She was getting upset.
Jack, of course, did not notice.  “Well, if it’s any car, how do I know if you’re driving it?”
Silence.
He went on. “Cars pass us all the time and you’re the only one getting upset!”
She looked at David.  She’d had enough.  I’m not sure if there was actually smoke coming out of her ears, but David was afraid it might happen, so he encouraged Jack to simply apologize.
“Ok,” he chirped, unfazed. “I’m sorry!”  He turned away and sped off on his bike.  The woman looked at David and huffed off to her home.  We haven’t seen her since.
Sometimes I worry about Jack’s future and his ability to handle difficult situations.  Sometimes I’m pretty certain he’ll be just fine.

King of the world.

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A Christmas Miracle

Posted by on Jan 19, 2012 | 1 comment

A Christmas Miracle

Somewhere along the line this year, Jack started disliking Santa.  Oh, he loves the man and the gifts he brings, but as December rolled around, Jack made it clear he wouldn’t be sitting on the Big Man’s lap, and there would be no photo for the mantle this year.

I have to confess, I’m most likely responsible for Jack’s trepidation.

In late September, before we had even begun to talk about Jack’s birthday or Halloween (our favourite October events), it happened.  My boys pulled out their Polar Express DVD and started the countdown to Christmas.  I didn’t discourage them much, as I have a deep and abiding passion for Christmas and all the pageantry it entails.  I did insist on doing all of our traditional October things like picking apples, decorating pumpkins and the like, but it didn’t take long after each activity for their attentions to turn back to Santa.

One night, as we were looking for books to read before bed, I was quite upset to find that one of their favourites had been ripped to shreds.  Actually, its pages had been turned into paper airplanes.  We really love our books in this house, and I was beside myself.  I decided they needed to learn a lesson in consequence.

I told my big boys that in order for Santa to bring them shiny new toys this year, they’d have to apologize.  They needed to write him a letter, in advance of the traditional “I want” missive, explaining that not only had they shredded some books, but that yes, they’d used their special Polar Express train set outside in the mud (it was not, surprisingly, mud-proof), and that they were sorry.  I told them Santa wouldn’t bring them nice new things if he thought they would be treated badly, and an apology was in order.

Lennon didn’t like it, but he understood.  Jack argued points with me (he did not take part in the book destruction, so he felt he only needed to cop to the train wreck), but finally understood if he wanted new loot, he needed to come clean.

I felt good after that discussion, happy that my children might have actually learned responsibility and culpability.  They did, sort of.  What Jack learned, though, was that Santa has a bit of an attitude, and he wanted nothing to do with it.  He started to tell me how he would write his letter, but he wouldn’t go see Santa.  Not even for a second, no way.

I didn’t push him. If I’ve learned anything in the six-plus years of living with Jack, it’s that if he says he doesn’t want to do something, he means it.  We went to Sea World once, after a week of three-year-old Jack telling anyone who’d listen that he did not, in fact, want to go.  He didn’t want to see sharks or dolphins or whales.  He didn’t care about the turtles.  He did not want to go, period.  We assumed that once we got there he’d change his tune, as he adores sea life, but lo and behold, he stuck to his guns.  We did not get to see sharks or dolphins, and he summarily dismissed the huge killer whale swimming right past him.  It was the fastest trip to Sea World in recorded history.

Boring

So when Jack said no to Santa, I figured that was that.  Last year’s trip to see Santa was a debacle, since the whole family had been sick with the flu the entire month leading up to Christmas.  We finally got to see him at the little mall near us one night while we were out, on a whim, looking at decorations.  The boys were in their jammies, and the hurried photo we got reflected the moods of everyone involved (even poor Saint Nick, who was minutes away from quitting time and bombarded by a load of sick kids in pajamas). In search of a better experience this year, we packed everyone up and went into the city to the VanDusen Botanical Garden’s Festival of Lights.

Seeing the light

We enjoyed a spectacle of lights, music, Swedish waffles and fun.  As we neared Santa’s cottage, Jack started his dialogue of how he wouldn’t be participating, lest we had forgotten his endless lecture during the hour-long car ride to get there.  I took the younger kids in, and Jack watched through the windows.  For about ten seconds.  Then he was hooked.

The Santa experience at VanDusen was like nothing we expected.  Santa had his own little cottage (which they called his “living room”), separate from all the hustle and bustle of the botanical gardens. He sat on his big, comfy chair nestled between a fireplace and a beautiful Christmas tree, in front of three rows of benches.  Families sat and waited to chat with him, or just enjoyed the quiet coziness. There was no professional photographer, no cameras at all other than those in the hands of grinning parents and grandparents. Santa took his time with each child, asking them questions about their likes and dislikes, their thoughts on the world, and yes, eventually, what they would like for Christmas.  He invited them onto his lap if they were comfortable, let them sit next to him if they were not.  He smiled, laughed, and exuded absolute joy.

Deep in discussion

It didn’t take long for Jack to assess the situation and change his mind about meeting Santa.  He responded wholly to the calm and quiet, and wanted in.  As we waited our turn, I watched the excitement grow on his face, his love of Santa overcoming the fears he’d built up in his head.

Jack and Santa discussed the fireplace, the lights, and several other things before Jack finally expressed his desire for a book about airplanes.  Jack climbed up next to him and I took the best photos I have ever gotten of Jack and Santa.  In fact, the photos I took of the three boys and Santa are, hands down, our best Santa photos to date.  There is joy on their faces, all four of them.

Team Baskin with Santa. Joy all around.

As we left the little cottage, Jack couldn’t contain himself.  “It was a big mistake telling you I was afraid!”  He was giddy with pride.  Then he was serious. “Santa loves children all the way to the bottom of the world because he lives on the top of the world.”

Yes, Santa loves all of the children.  Even if they tear up books or destroy their Christmas trains in the summer mud.  Santa loves the children who are brave, and those who are not.  Santa loves the children who can tell him what they want, and those who cannot. Santa loves equally, always.

I will never forget this visit with Santa, and we will go see him in his little living room next year. And the year after that.  I hope he knows how much he is appreciated, by the parents as much as the children.

"Dear Santa, Thanks for making my stuff. From, Jack"

 

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