4-6-16

There’s not a lot to say today about what I did with N that has not already been said (except for my favorite part, see the end for the spoiler). So maybe we can dive into his mind a little, and this untrained father will just give his reactions to it.  I read a book about a man who, from childhood, built a large mansion, and added to it every day.  However, this mansion was not brick and mortar or wood and nails, but its walls were made of memory and feelings.  There were rooms for languages, art, math and science, family members, friends, feelings for eating, feelings for childhood, feelings for love, and feelings not so positive.  When he wanted to dig into math, he could open the math room on the second floor and find the book on Calculus, or if he saw an art piece that stimulated him, he could hang it in his art gallery, or if he experienced a feeling he never wanted to feel again, he could lock it in the dungeon.  N doesn’t have a house like this, but he has a tent. The tent is mobile and adaptive, so it can be set up whenever and wherever he is.  The tent is not elaborate, but is very clean, as most of the memories and feelings are lumped together in a sack right outside of the tent.  The sack can be visited and an item removed, one at a time, as long as it doesn’t cause any negative feelings or invasion of safety. 

Now, I am here.  When I peek-a-boo into his eyes too soon, the tent goes up and his eyes divert to the blank tapestry as he leaves this unsafe person outside.  When I offer items, they are quickly moved to the sack of things unless they have soothing value.  Barging into the tent just causes N to break camp and set up farther away than before.  So how can I draw him out?  #1, I can guard the tent.  When I am no longer an invader, but a protector, I become part of the tent’s mechanism.  When N decides to add new items to the sack or get items from the sack outside, I am there to hand them to him and to protect him on his way.  #2, I can have a party by myself with neon lights and music. As long as the party doesn’t pose a threat, such a thing can bait N into leaving the safety of his tent, if for nothing else, to take a look at what’s going on, or even to participate.  I would love for N’s tent to grow into a large house with a big yard and room for family, friends, and good memories, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither our are minds.

“Barzo, barzo, barzo!” (quickly, quickly, quickly) I yelled, running up the stairs to the slide platform, with N in my arms.  “Now, bavno…bavno…bavno,” (slowly, slowly, slowly) I whisper, taking long, slow steps to the edge of the slide.  “Edno, dve, triiiiiiii!!!” as we go down the slide, every time garnishing a look from N for a few seconds, checking out my face in the light of the sun, out of his tent.  His beard is furry, and his teeth are big, but that was fun, I think!  His eyes say it all.  “Vizh!” (look),  I stressed, “Lulkata! Ayde, (come on) Ayde!”  But it was too much, and with the other kids watching and waving and taking the guard’s attention away from the tent, N started to build his tent elsewhere, in a safer location.  But before he left, he actually rolled the toy car we had, back and forth, playing with it, not just exploring, but playing. 

I helped him pitch his tent on a big swing made for two or more, and I “Shhh’d” him like I have Shhh’d my two babies at home so many times before.  And after 10 minutes that seemed like 2, N was almost asleep.  “Leke Nosht,” (nighty night), sweet, little N. 

As a side note, I don’t say Leke Nosht to taxi drivers anymore.  No two grown men should say “Nighty night” to each other!!