BLUFF
“Marise, You have your piano lesson tomorrow. Can you please sit down with me so we can practice together?” I’ve heard that if kids believe they are partaking in an activity with you, they are more likely to co-operate, but not my kid. She’s lying under the piano with her feet resting next to me on the bench. “I AM sitting next to you.” Her feet wiggle, in happy response. “Would your butt like to sit next to me so you can play piano with your hands.” Using the word butt with a 5 year old is very effective. It creates a connection, at the expense of your authority of course, but a connection nonetheless. More toe wiggling and irresistible giggling. I can’t take it. I want to tickle her feet but that will set me back in my persuasions. “I’m gonna count to 3, and if you’re not up here, all sorts of bad things might happen.” Why make specific threats when a child’s imagination can effectively customize much more frightening scenarios? “1” - Three second pause, feet stop wiggling. “2” - Five second pause, no more giggling. “Thaaaa - ree” and she’s up, faster than a jack rabbit. “Ok, lets try this one, Robbie the Robot. It’s going to sound so wonderful once you learn it." I play first, and sing “Robbie the Robot, has a cute face. When he gets going, he likes to race.” Unfettered positivity and enthusiasm do not come naturally to me so I sound like a lunatic. I’m losing my bearings. My attempts started at 6:45pm. Now its almost 7:30 and nothing. My expectations are down to 4 simple notes. Once she plays those 4 notes, we’re done. She finally positions her finger over the middle C and I look down to see my own fingers rigid, tense, frozen in wait. Then her head plops down on the keys and something inside me crumbles, slides away. Deep breath. “Well, it looks like you don’t want to take piano lessons anymore.” She shakes her head no while still resting it on the keys. Her head is playing where her fingers refused, rolling back and forth emitting mini glissandos of resistance. “Okay then, that’s fine, but do you know what that makes you?” She looks up at me, “your little munchkin”. Her voice lilts up and she freezes her face in a sweet smile, eyes twinkling. I swear she even bats her eyelashes a few times. I have the word butt, and she has this. “No” I respond gravely, “a quitter.” “What’s that?” “Someone who quits, who gives up on things. I don’t like quitters.” Upon hearing my words, she sustains her smile but it deflates into a sad smile. I wonder if this is too much for her, but the lesson is important. Stamina, perseverance. Quit piano today, drop out of college tomorrow. She looks down, the corners of her mouth trembling to stay up. “Well, then,” she says, her voice slightly shaky, “I’ll just go live with Annie.” Her face rises, eyes twinkling once again. Her lust for life is replenished at the thought of moving in with her best friend. With genuine enthusiasm she declares, “Annie likes quitters.” Tap, tapping my boxing gloves as the featherweight musters her second wind. But am I the contender or the coach? Somewhere in the gray space between teaching a lesson and not breaking her spirit, the lines blurred. I'm getting lost. Before I can respond she chirps, “and she has a bunkbed. Ooooh I can’t wait to sleep on the top.” What will make this five year old take the road less travelled? “Okay then, let’s go pack your things," I say very matter of fact. "Can you please fetch your suitcase from the garage?” My daughter, usually a damsel in distress goes to the garage without hesitation and brings back 2 suitcases, one medium and one large. She drags the medium one up the half flight of stairs to her bedroom. “Mommy, can you bring the large one, that one’s too big for me.” "Of course," I respond with feigned calm, believing that if I keep my voice under control, I am somehow keeping the situation under control. But it is rapidly unraveling. “Mommy, I need that blue lotion you bought me, The one inside the little box shaped like a house. Annie’s gonna love it. She loves the color blue.” Her facetious speech finds its way straight to my heart and stings it, paralyzing my common sense with her eagerness to run away. She picks out her most precious items. Three ballerina tutus, 3 pairs of matching pjs, toothbrush and toothpaste carefully placed in ziplock baggies, 3 pairs of shoes, my hairbrush, and her entire rock collection. She’s about to zip up the suitcases, then pauses, runs to the wall and pulls down a picture that she drew of 2 figures holding hands. My heart melts as I notice that one is much bigger than the other. Then I notice the letters A-N-N-I-E. I time travel 15 years ahead when she brings home her first love and I cloak my jealousy as motherly intuition. Recalling our daily color wars of pink skorts and purple t-shirts I stoop low and cater to her weaknesses. "You know Marise, Annie doesn't know your fashion sense. She won't spend nearly as much time as I do, helping you get dressed in the mornings". "It's okay, cuz I'll try new things with Annie." TRY NEW THINGS WITH ANNIE? She's drawing the zipper shut slowly, the sound like a saw tearing at the seams of my notions of good parenting. Oblivious to the turmoil (or maybe not) she kindly asks, “Mom, can you bring the suitcases downstairs?” I pull them down the stairs. Each clunk, an opportunity to show my cards but then I’m at the front door, putting on my shoes and jacket, helping her with hers. I'm grasping at this point. “So Marise, you know once you make the decision to leave here, that’s it. Things are different.” “How?” She’s genuinely curious. “Well, you don’t live here anymore. We’re not really like family anymore.” I feel like the shittiest mother of all time. But then she one ups me, “Well, that’s okay because I’ll have my new family. Annie has a baby brother, and you know I always wanted to be a big sister.” So having missed the last exit, we’re off on a highway into the unknown. At some point, my bluff will be called. I envision a fit when she realizes that she won’t be living with her best friend, and my already splintered heart will shatter to bits. Anything that remains will be gnawed by guilt into a sticky sludge. I lumber alongside my legs on autopilot, my mind trying to recall the seeds of this wayward lesson. Why am I not stopping? What's the point? One thing that stands clear is her uncharacteristic physical stamina. This is the girl who lays at the bottom of the stairs, whimpering about an aching toe. She pulls the heavy suitcase, with both hands behind her, trudging down the dark sidewalk, determined to reach her new life. Twenty five minutes later, we are standing on the sidewalk in front of Annie’s house. There’s a long driveway. “Ok, Marise, give me a hug and kiss goodbye. This is where I leave you. It’s been fun being your mom. Thanks for all the great memories.” She looks to the front door then with concern to some distant point directly beyond my head. She’s not as ready as both of us thought. “Mommy, you have to come with me. You have to walk me to the front door. I can’t do it by myself.” Her voice, so tiny has the fear that sudden realization brings. “I’m serious Mom. I need your help. I’m serious.” And it hits me, she is serious, no bluffing. Inside her, there is a real struggle of her courageous developing will extricating itself from the comforts of love and home because of mere bullheaded momentum. Her sincerity melts the wall of frost that’s formed between my heart and mind. I’ve taken the game far enough, met my limits, and was humbled by her incredible endurance to always find the silver lining. I kneel down so we can be at the same level. From deep within, I finally allow true words to surface, clear as a bell, honest as daybreak. “Marise, I love you more than you can know. You will always be my daughter, and there will always be a place for you at home and in my heart.” I’m trying to hold back the tears because I’ve read that children are devastated at seeing their parents cry. But I can’t. Streams are pouring out of me and now her. Her enduring positivity finally gives way to the hurt. She’s wiping her eyes with her sleeves, heaving deep sobs. All I can think is, I have to erase every harmful bluff. This lesson has gone awry. “Aren’t we silly, that we let this get so far? Let’s always be honest with each other about our true feelings.” She nods her head and throws her arms around my neck. I feel her breath on my cheek, her grip like she’ll never let go. “I don’t want to live with Annie. I want to live with you,” she manages to get out in between her sobs. We, two people trying to do our best, a woman set on guiding her child, and a child determined to stay happy, detoured to a dark place and now emerge from the claustrophobia of tunnel vision. We embrace each other for what feels like forever, paralyzed in the catharsis of feelings deferred for too long. “Let me look at your face,” I say and she pulls back trying to smile. Stroking the tears away, I smile too. “Lets go home now.” We stand up and walk hand in hand pulling the heaviness of pride behind us that lightens with each step.