Blog #72 – John Rigney

September 27, 2010

My son Owen is adorable.  I know this to be true despite his recreations of T-Rex attacking the helpless, vegetarian dinosaurs or the earthquakes he brings upon his train set.  He’s testing out his environment and the durability of all things in his grasp.  You see, Owen is adorable and three and half years old.  Plus, he’s built like me – big and bricklike.

Owen is a snuggler and thumb-holder too though.  He regularly hops on my lap (or any student or faculty member he’s familiar with) and grabs a thumb (for security) and then snuggles in.  This quality, in contrast to his occasionally brutishness, is what made this evening’s lesson so difficult.

While leaving the dining hall this evening my wife explained to me why our dinner had turned into an evacuation.  Owen had grabbed a student’s umbrella and banged it against the wall.  This was not terribly unusual, but unfortunately he broke part off one of the tips of the umbrella making is much less usable and rather less fashionable.  We appropriately reprimanded him and he apologized to the student.  On our way home however I realized a lesson my parents had handed down to me.  You make amends for accidents such as this.  I informed Owen that when we got home he’d need to go get his piggy bank in order to pay for the umbrella.  This comment elicited a wail, followed by a sad question about whether he would get the money back.  I explained no (more wailing).  He was clearly distraught and saw that he was going to be responsible in some manner for making amends.

When we arrived at home however, he shifted his attitude.  He worked with my wife to extract all of his money (a whopping $4.51) from the bank.  He then ‘earned’ another $.50 from my wife by helping her bring all of the garbage out.  He did this with pride and what appeared to be the resolve to make his mistake right again.  I watched the exchange of the $.50 and then watched as he closed up a letter of apology he’d written with the help of his mother.  He was sad, but a bit more aware of himself and his responsibility to those around him – something we’ve been working on for a while now.  More than this, he’d made amends.

What stands out to me now, a few hours later however is the piece he asked my wife to write down before closing up the letter: “Will you accept my apology?”  In our family we say we’re sorry but then we ask each other if our apology is accepted.  Owen wanted to make sure he asked for this.  Clearly he takes in more than I necessarily see.  A few minutes later he was snuggling into his PJs and tucked into bed. My baby T-Rex at rest.

Best, John