In an earlier editorial I talked about guilt as an unpleasant emotion that is best kept in sight.
Well, what about shame? Is that not what you also feel when you feel guilty?
For purposes of gaining insight into these difficult feelings, it is important to distinguish between shame and guilt.
As I said in the previous editorial, guilt is to feel responsible – that you did something wrong: uncomfortable, yes, but a sign that you are aware and care about your impact on others.
Shame, however, is to feel that there is something wrong with you. This is profoundly different on both a psychological and emotional level than feeling that you did something wrong. The difference is between saying, “you acted mean” and saying, “you are mean.”
As you can understand from this description of shame, being shamed can be deeply hurtful to a tender developing sense of self.
You don’t actually have to act as my old Scottish schoolteacher in Grade 3 did, shaking her finger and shouting, “Shame on you, you…lazy, careless, dirty, bad, … children!” She was often in a righteous rage, and believed in the power of shaming, as she was molding us into good little citizens. Half the class (usually the boys), would be staring out the window, not hearing a word she said, and the other half would be wishing they could sink into the floor and disappear. Just to up the ante for those staring out the window, Mrs. Handby would segue into the threat of fire and brimstone that was the predicted end for all of us, coupled with flying chalk missiles. (She looked just like the iconic schoolteacher in Calvin and Hobbes.)
That was the ‘good old days!’ Today, a frustrated adult might exclaim: “What is wrong with you?!” or “What is the matter with you?” Using words like this makes for pretty overt shaming and most of us only find ourselves saying something like this to a child when we are really feeling harried. However, shame can also be conveyed to a child by telling them that they are ‘too much’ in some way: too greedy, too demanding, too much trouble, or, conversely, ‘not enough:’ not smart enough, not pretty enough, not good enough.
Being aware of the impact of your words is crucial – however, shame can be experienced by a child even when a parent is being ‘linguistically correct,” if the face and tone of voice become cold. Alan Schore, who discusses attachment and brain development, uses the word shame for the experience of the infant when there is a lack of engagement (signified by him in eye contact) between the baby and the mother figure. The brain shrinks and withdraws without this interaction.
To take you back to Dr. Neufeld’s New Year’s editorial you can see that, in essence, to shame a child is to withdraw the invitation to exist in your presence.
The response to guilt is usually to feel bad, but the response to shame is to withdraw and to hide oneself.
Some children will jump to this feeling by themselves, especially in the face of vociferous reactions to their actions. They can decide that something is wrong with them, and rather than basking in a sense of being invited, they attempt to be more acceptable. The sense of shame can drive a tremendous need to be perfect and any failure can result in an exaggerated shame reaction.
Sometimes expectations of self-control in a young child can lead to shaming. When you are three, it would be perfectly natural not to have good impulse control in the face of strong emotions. For example: a young boy impulsively hits his little sister. Mom asks him “Why did you do that?” Because it was an impulse, he doesn’t really know why. Being pressed for an answer he doesn’t have can also lead a child to think there is something wrong with him.
Knowing that shame can be very hard on a child, you will ask, “How do I convey that some actions are not appropriate, instill my values, and teach what is socially and culturally appropriate, and still keep from wounding the child?” Not always easy.
The challenge is to deal with the deeds, and still manage to show the child the invitation to exist in your presence has not been withdrawn: “I’m still your mom” – “We will get through this” – “I’m looking forward to playing your favorite game with you tonight,” etc.
Dr. Neufeld talks about these challenges in his Power to Parent courses, under the heading Discipline that Doesn’t Divide.
He has recently made a new videocourse, Making Sense of Discipline, where he addresses the issues of disciplining without losing the vital connection with your child. This course will be released in 2011.
Recently my dear friend’s grandmother died at 96. I didn’t know much about “Gransie” except for the fact that my friend Karin kept in close contact with her, often visiting and taking her out to dinner with the family. My only thought about this woman I had never met or known was: I hope I have a granddaughter who is so loving and attentive if I am lucky enough to live that long. And of course the question begs, “What does one have to do to hold onto their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren throughout the course of their life time?”
I got my answer when I attended Gransie’s funeral. In the synagogue that afternoon of the service, I witnessed several generations weeping openly, telling stories, and sharing their loss as they paid tribute to a woman who quite obviously and instinctively knew what attachment and connection were all about. I watched my friend grieving in deep sorrow, alongside her children, her father and mother, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, and great-grandchildren – people young and old, ranging in age from 7 to 70 and beyond. A woman beside me remarked at how difficult it was to see the little ones so sad. I said, “No, it’s wonderful. What an amazing attachment she has cultivated.”
What was clear to me was that Gransie lived her life with a huge heart, putting relationships and family first. In the days following I asked Karin what made her grandmother so special, what kept the connection so strong? I found some things out.
She collected everyone, all the time. She cursed the answering machines, always demanding a real voice. She sent birthday cards and letters to every niece, great-niece, and grandchild and made sure they left with packages of Hungarian cabbage roles and cakes after visits with her. This was how she continued to nourish them even when apart from her. She made everyone feel special, always welcoming new family members and in-laws with open arms and a message of “what is mine is yours…let me make you feel taken care of.” She never forgot a promise for a visit, or a dinner out. In my friend’s words, “She made me feel safe. She was in charge and I could go to her with anything… any worry, sadness, concern… she could handle it, take it all in, and give me a sense that everything would be okay. I could hand my problems over to her, and rest knowing she would take care of me. Even her house, her bathroom, her clothes… they reminded me of what she stood for and I found
comfort in everything that was hers.”
Karin’s grandmother had what is called a strong “alpha presence.” She was amazingly caring and soft-hearted. And she was bossy, feisty, spoke her mind, and didn’t take any guff. She suffered great loss and tragedy in her life but came through with resilience. Her message to her loved ones was: “Bring it on. I can take it. I will take care of you.”
I am reminded of Dr. Neufeld’s powerful description of the deepest attachment possible with another: the attachment that invites another to be fully known and understood, that invites all parts in… not just the good, but also all the worries, the sadness, the confusion, the anger – the vulnerability that makes us fully human. This kind of connection doesn’t go away. Even after her death, Gransie will always be there to guide and influence Karin for the rest of her life. That is
what deep attachment is about. It’s forever.
Dr. Neufeld frequently compares our need for food with our need for relationship; the more I think about this the more it makes sense.
It is easy for us to understand the importance of food for the healthy development of our children; we know they need sleep and safe shelter in order to grow. It is harder for us to grasp the vital importance of right relationship in determining the well being, and even the behaviour of our children.
If my child had to work to secure food, had to search for shelter and grab sleep wherever she could, there would be no energy for creativity, for exploration, for aspirations; my child would be preoccupied with security and stability. She might crave distractions to take her mind off her troubles, she would be agitated and restless, and might chase after any stranger who seemed like they might be able to help.
Compare this to the child who has to work to secure relationships, search for acceptance, and grab affection wherever she can. Surprisingly, these children act just like children who have to scramble for sustenance. They too have no energy for creativity, for exploration, for aspirations, they too are preoccupied with security and stability — they are clingy and demanding, or charming and delightful in an attempt to secure our care and love. They, too, crave distractions to take their minds off their troubles, are agitated and restless, and are likely to chase after any stranger who seems like they might be able to help.
So many of our children, even those who are truly loved, are starving for deep secure relationships — we understand that a child must eat quite frequently in order to stay healthy, we know that when they are hungry their behaviour is likely to fall apart, we know that one good meal at breakfast will not last all day, yet we do not see their attachment needs as equally legitimate. We act like there is something wrong with a child who needs us.
We think that one attachment meal at breakfast will last all day; when a child is demanding or clingy we instruct others to “ignore him, he just wants attention,” as if somehow ignoring him will make the hunger go away. We withhold ourselves from them or send them to their rooms when they misbehave in order to “starve” them into submission.
The more I think about it, the more parallels I can see, and the more I long for each child to have a full belly of food, and a deep meal of attachment, both as frequently as needed. Let us invite them to our table, and provide there a feast.
We all want to rejoice when our child does something wonderful or achieves a goal. It is a natural part of being a proud parent. We celebrate their endeavors and want to acknowledge them. But when acknowledgment and recognition turn into praise in hopes they will continue to raise the bar, or if we recognize our child only when they do something well, we could be headed for trouble.
If we give our child attention when they do well, we also need to show them appreciation and affection when they don’t succeed. It is so important that we provide comfort and convey how much we love them, even if they fail or make mistakes. When we give love and attention freely, no matter how well they do, a child can rest in the awareness that our love is unconditional. They don’t need to measure up to earn our love. We offer it without strings attached. When children know this, they feel valued for who they are, not what they do.
I always felt my mother got this right. She never seemed to be overly ecstatic when I brought home good reports cards or received honors in piano. She had a way of showing her happiness but I always knew my success did not determine her well-being. She was just as warm and welcoming when I didn’t succeed. I remember receiving quite a bit of praise from my teachers in the elementary grades. Even though part of me enjoyed it, I also felt uncomfortable, feeling as though I might fall of the pedestal at any moment and expose my imperfection. What if I couldn’t always do so well? Praise can actually backfire and cause insecurity.
Another problem happens when we over-focus on performance. Children are often full of wonderful emergent energy where they want to play, discover, achieve a personal goal, or create. When we step in and praise a child for their endeavor, the child’s energy may turn away from the enjoyment of their activity and focus on our approval. When this happens, the emergent energy, where the child is learning autonomy, new boundaries, and acquiring a sense of themselves, is interrupted and they pursue our applause and attention instead.
I have experienced this even as an adult. My husband and I took up ballroom dancing once. My husband turned out to be a natural and the instructor praised us (him), and used us an example of how to dance. At first we were just having fun, excited about learning the steps, and enjoying our new skills. But after the heaps of praise, I started to focus on the instructor’s attention. I felt pressure to ‘perform’ and when she wandered by, I became very conscious of her judgment and approval rather than on the enjoyment of learning something new. Luckily, I could laugh at myself and joke with my husband about it. But for a child, their parent’s approval is serious business.
We need to preserve the precious times our children are discovering their world, uninhibited by our stamp of approval. We don’t need to reinforce this wonderful energy with our praise; the child will naturally want to venture forth if we have provided for their emotional needs of contact and closeness. When a child wants to show us an accomplishment or creation, we can celebrate this. We can honor their focus, value their enthusiasm, and share in their excitement.
Whether praise is interrupting our child’s creative solitude or conveying that our acceptance of them is contingent upon success, we need to be conscious and cautious of its power.
Dr. Neufeld sums up the dangers of praise with a wonderful analogy. He says, “Praise is like dessert. Dessert is fine when we have taken in the nourishment of the main course; but we run into problems when it replaces our dinner. Like dessert, praise should never be the main course.”
I drove down the little lane towards the house in the country and I could see a little boy waiting for me. The farm was vast. The house was large and dark. The boy was little, somehow not really matching his surroundings.
Peter had been suspended from the school on the last day of classes before the Christmas holidays. His alarm and frustration had escalated to the point that it was impossible to get him to do anything. Any request coming from an adult was welcomed with the exact opposite behaviors; any request for a conversation was followed with nasty words, accusations and threats. Peter had been identified as a bully in our school. He walked around looking for more vulnerable students, targeting them with physical and verbal abuse. He was defiant towards teachers and adults, including his mom, and demanded that his requests and wants be met. He threatened when things were not going his way.
I asked the principal if I could see him by myself. Meetings kept on taking place where Peter would shut down and the adults would leave filled with frustration. The parents had tried to take him to another school, but no school that knew of his reputation was prepared to take him. After some discussion with the principal, she agreed to call the parents to see if they would allow him to see me. They agreed, but said that they would not bring him to the school; if I wanted to talk to him, I would have to pick him up and bring him home afterwards.
As I drove down the meandering country road, I spotted Peter waiting for me. Watching me carefully, he climbed into my car with a hesitant hello. We drove and chatted while we munched on grapes that I had bought on my way to his house. We talked about the holidays, about the chickens on his property and who got to feed them, about his new dog ‘Wolf’ (and how much bigger he was than my little Pomeranian), and about his dirt bike. I was doing everything I could to collect him, doing everything I could to help him to attach to me.
Once we got to my office we sat down to do some drawings. I asked him to make a picture of what he thought was happening. I was looking for integrative functioning – could he see both sides of the issue, could he talk from the ‘other side’ of the problem. I wanted to see if he could feel his sadness about what wasn’t working. I drew a little heart on the paper and asked him what his story felt like. He took a black pencil and colored the whole heart in black. He looked at me and said ‘It feels like I am being swallowed into a big black hole into nothingness.’ Then he whispered quietly, ‘I feel like I don’t exist.’
Peter’s counterwill – which is the human instinct to resist pressure and coercion, and serves attachment by keeping children from being unduly influenced by those they are not attached to – started to make sense to me. His brain was protecting him against a sense of vulnerability that was too overwhelming. He was defended from attaching to any of the adults in his life. Defending against vulnerability, according to Dr. Neufeld’s paradigm, is a protective mechanism involving emotional and perceptual filters that screen out information that the person would find too wounding or painful. There was something in this little boy’s life that was making it too hard to feel.
I realized that what I needed to do was to somehow soften the hearts of the adults towards this little boy. It was crucial to stop seeing him as the bad boy who would not do our bidding and instead to see the little boy that needed us to invite him to exist in our caring presence. We needed to see how incredibly vulnerable and defended he was. We needed to yearn for him, and seek to be in a right relationship with him where he could depend on us.
Last night, my teaching partner was shopping for groceries after work. As she was selecting apples she heard a little voice calling her name. When she looked up, she recognized Peter who by now was running towards her with the greatest smile on his face. ‘I am coming back to the school tomorrow!’ he announced to her, ‘I can’t wait to be back with all of you again!’
My yearning is that we’ll be able to keep our hearts soft towards this little boy as we seek to create a school community that is safe and welcoming to all kids.
I recently discovered that my son was struggling with his peers at school. As a fifth grader, he is the oldest boy at his Montessori school. Over the years I have witnessed the patience, tenderness, and maturity that miraculously emerge from my son when in the company of a younger child to whom he is attached. Consequently, I had high hopes that these endearing qualities would be drawn out of him at school as he returned to this position of leadership: I envisioned him looking after the third graders who would join his multi-age class in the same way he cared for the younger children within our community.
Needless to say, the fact that this was not unfolding at school was a difficult pill for me to swallow. After my initial alarm and dismay at hearing about my son’s behavioral missteps subsided, I moved to find out what was not working for him. He had a safe relationship with his teacher, what was amiss? I learned that almost all of the incidents occurred on the playground. I was not surprised, for I need only recall that my worst experiences at school were all connected to the devastating peer interactions that happened at recess when I was outside of the teacher’s protective wing.
Consequently, my first decision was to eliminate the unstructured peer relating that was getting my son into trouble. To this end, I committed to attending recess, not only to help keep my son and the other children safe, but also to get a better window into what was happening (or not happening) on the playground.
Less than five minutes into my first recess duty the picture became clear. Twenty children were playing capture the flag on a beautiful green lawn under a clear, sunny sky. While the weather outside was lovely, there was an emotional storm brewing on the field as the children argued over who was “cheating.” My son was not the only one struggling with the fact that he couldn’t get his peers to listen and obey him; other children were clearly frustrated, some muttering swear words under their breath, some on the verge of tears, some walking around the edges of the playground with hearts that clearly ached from the insensitive relating of their “friends.”
Although there were adults on recess duty, the children were not looking to those adults to provide the help they clearly needed. Instead of orbiting around a safe adult who could bring order to this scene, the children were orbiting around each other and so chaos reigned.
I immediately stepped in (with a confidence born of years of practice as the mother of three very intense children) and announced that it wasn’t their job to make sure everyone was following the rules; their job was to play and have fun. I actively joined the game. I scripted what it would look like for the older children to encourage the younger ones. (At the end of recess three of the oldest, including my son, reported their success at this to me with great pride.) I took the hurt ones out of the public eye and made room for their tears until they wanted to go “play” some more.
Thus I brought order to their world by having the children orbit around me, rather than each other.
As I drove home, I reflected upon how misguided our approach to recess is. In the classroom we are concerned about student teacher ratios, but often don’t think twice about having a few adults supervise a field of 50 children. We view recess as down time for all, including the adults on duty. Yet it is clear, not only in the hearts of many who carry bitter memories of recess time, but also in documented research, that peer relating is the number one source of wounding for children; recess is often the most toxic period of the school day. This is when close and active adult involvement is what is needed most, and yet this is often the period where it is provided least.
I simultaneously felt great sadness and great gratitude; sadness about the degree to which we have lost sight of what children truly need, and gratitude for the eyes and the confidence Dr. Neufeld’s work has given me to see and to provide what it is our culture and systems are missing.
Hold on to your Kids is Dr. Neufeld’s book on the phenomenon of peer attachment in our culture.
I often get asked by school boards to help them choose a good Social Skills training program for their students. Their intentions are the best; they want to help their students to get along with each other and they want life to flow more smoothly in the classroom, in the hallways and on the playground.
At first, I took this quest seriously and developed a list of programs that I thought were among the best. I had hopes that, in addition to what the children were going to learn, the teachers would understand that students need to be taught social skills step-by-step, with lots of coaching to apply these skills, just as is done with academic subjects.
However, since I have become more familiar with Dr. Neufeld’s developmental paradigm, which includes the newest brain research, I see more clearly the error of trying to teach children something for which they may not yet be ready.
The ability to get along with others, to put others’ needs into perspective along with our own needs, is a long and slow process. It is as much dependent on the development of the capacity for integrative thinking as it is on the knowledge of what to do. Integrative thinking is tied to the development of the pre-frontal cortex of the brain and the research now tells us that the pre-frontal cortex of elementary school children is only starting to develop, a process that will take them until well into their twenties to complete. And it is the pre-frontal cortex that enables us to keep both our needs and the needs of others in mind in any social situation.
With a developing prefrontal cortex, children can’t always manage their emotions, especially intense ones. And when in a crowded corridor, on a rough and tumble playground or in a noisy lunch room, it is very easy for a child to become overwhelmed. The skills that they are learning seem to “fly out of their head” and they respond instinctively instead of rationally. We, of course, become frustrated – why don’t they DO what they KNOW? But then do we, as adults, with supposedly fully developed brains, always DO as we KNOW? I wish I could say that I do!
If your school has a well functioning Social Skills program, then, continue, as long as you understand that the program can’t “cure” the underlying condition – natural immaturity for some, and situational immaturity for others. Reflection sheets and consequences cannot hurry the developmental process.
While research does show that in schools with Social Skills Programs children’s negative behaviour seems to decline, implementing these programs requires a lot of energy and commitment and even then, success is only temporary.
If you are searching for a way to help your students “do better,” I suggest that the energy and money be put into educating the school staff about the true developmental needs of children: right relationships with adults; discipline that does not divide, and lots of structure to compensate for natural immaturity and to prevent children from getting into trouble.
Dr. Neufeld has a number of DVDs and Distance Education courses available that would be most helpful to school staffs. Do look into these, your children will thank you.
I remember that night in June like it was yesterday. Our oldest daughter was just finishing Kindergarten and we were thinking ahead, with a bit of panic, to Grade One – a whole day at school away from us, away from her sister. She was already struggling with peers and found it hard to hold on for the morning without clinging to her stuffed dog or the little girl next to her. She became withdrawn, and those eyes that normally lit up with delight, began to darken. We felt like our child was drifting away from us. Intuitively we knew something had to change.
With much trepidation, we decided that night to keep her home, just for the next year, as an experiment. I was nervous, and also vividly aware of what others were thinking of our ‘crazy’ idea.
Well, that night in June, over six years ago now, was the beginning of a journey. One filled with joys and challenges as we stumble our way through learning together. And if I had the option to go back and choose again, I would still choose the same path.
I will never forget the morning we were walking to our local café to read a book together over tea. My daughter was skipping along beside me and suddenly burst out, “I LOVE learning!” My eyes watered as I remembered her dampened spirit from the year before and knew in my heart we had made the right decision. Now, years later, I have a bit more insight into what made the difference.
As I reflect I see that not only were we losing our connection with our daughter, she was losing her connection with herself. Being in that Kindergarten class, away from the safety of her home, was too much for her. She was not at a place where she could hold on to us while we were physically apart and in her alarm at being separated, turned to others in desperation to fill that void – her inseparable stuffy and the little red-headed girl who looked like her own sister. All of her energy went to filling this void – there was no energy left to learn, to ask questions, to be creative. Her brain was moving to protect her from a separation too much to bear, and her delight gave way to sullen quietness. She held everything in and there was simply no room left.
What we did that year, and continue to do to this day, is create that room. Somewhat like caring for a plant, we strive to cultivate the conditions for her to thrive – deepening the attachment roots; making it safe to depend on us; keeping the heart soft enough to experience the emotions necessary for growth, including the joys AND the disappointments; and making room for her own self to flower, honoring whatever color and shape emerges.
For our family, that has meant embracing the adventure of learning at home. For both of our children, the school environment – with it’s constraints of time and pressures to fit in and mix with others before they could hold on to themselves – might have been too much. These precious plants may have survived, but without the conditions they needed to truly flower and blossom; in short, there would have been a cost to their development.
And when I see before me those sparkling inquisitive eyes, the looks of wonder at the world around them, the desire to learn and understand, the confidence with which they approach new things and challenges, the creativity that springs spontaneously …
It causes me to pause and smile and continue on the path …
Resolutions in the New Year tend to bring us back to basics. Undoubtedly this is why health is our overwhelming preoccupation as judged by the fact that exercise and diet top most New Year’s resolution lists. Upon reflection, health clearly becomes the ultimate priority, as we need our health to prolong our time and preserve our ability to make use of it.
Is there a parallel priority in parenting, something equally basic and like health, in need of renewed resolve? I believe so. Most simply put, it would be to convey to our children the invitation to exist in our presence. It is hard to imagine anything more important, and at the same time, more difficult to remember in the day-to-day busyness that is parenting. I am convinced, after a life-time of putting the pieces together as a developmental scientist, after 40 years of practicing as a clinical psychologist, after 170 cumulative years of parenting and grandparenting, that this simple invitation contains the essence of what is required for healthy development to unfold.
It is in this invitation to exist in our presence that our children’s preeminent need for contact and closeness is met. When a child can trust in this invitation, there is a deep sense of belonging, of significance, of mattering, of being loved. When a child can rest in this invitation, there is no need to seek satisfaction elsewhere. When the invitation is experienced as constant and unconditional, then and only then, can the long process of becoming fully human unfold. Only when the attachment needs are truly met are children spontaneously moved to become independent, curious, resilient, considerate, and well-tempered.
Though the invitation is profoundly simple, is not always easy. To truly invite a child to exist in our presence is to make room for all that comes with the child – their immaturities, their meanings, their inconsistencies, their feelings, their problem behaviour. If the invitation is withdrawn when we are upset or disapproving, then pursuing and preserving the invitation – from others if not from us – becomes their life task.
It is not enough to have an invitation to give. It must be convincingly conveyed. There is no more important belief for a child to have than to assume the invitation to exist in his parent’s presence. We must give them something to believe in.
It is not enough to give the invitation only when one feels like it. Feelings come and go; the invitation must stand if it is to be counted on. Becoming the parent a child needs is to take on the challenge of conveying that invitation when least feeling like it.
In a nutshell, conveying the invitation to exist in our presence is the challenge of parenting cut to the quick. This invitation becomes the garden in which children can truly grow up to become all they were meant to be.
We would do well then, as we start a New Year, to remind ourselves of this basic priority and to renew our resolve to live it out.
“There are three stages of a man’s life: He believes in Santa Claus, he doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, he is Santa Claus.” ~Unknown
There is nothing quite as endearing as a young child’s belief in magic and the impossible. Believe it or not – the capacity for magical thinking actually stems from the same source as their impulsivity and egocentrism. Their immature brains are capable of handling only one thought or emotion at a time, that is why they lash out when frustrated and think fairness means they get the biggest cookie. Between the ages of 5 to 7 their brains will grow and they will be able to experience two thoughts or feelings at the same time as well as conflict between them. Impulsive acts will be replaced with more tempered ones, e.g., part of me wants to throw the toy but the other side of me thinks that might hurt you. Their wholehearted belief in magic stems from this place as there is no back of the mind to challenge their thinking as to whether Santa Claus is real or if tooth fairies really do exchange money for teeth. When children start to be able to mix their thoughts and emotions it starts to bring to a close this magical period – Peter Pan does have to grow up but you can’t blame him for wanting to hold onto his childhood.
I still remember the day I discovered Santa wasn’t for real. I was around six and we were visiting my grandparents and my Grandpa put on his red Santa suit and walked in with a sack full of presents. This one particular year I looked at him and thought to myself, “Santa looks familiar, who does he look like? … He looks like my Grandpa!” At this point I yelled out, “Grandpa – is that you? Are you Santa?” The adults quickly responded with hushes and glares that served notice that I should be quiet with my observations. While they later protested that this was NOT Grandpa, I would not be shaken. One part of me saw my Grandpa in a red suit while the other toyed with whether he might indeed be the real thing. I ended up concluding that adults were big fibbers when it came to all things Santa Claus.
The next year I felt compelled to demonstrate unequivocally that Grandpa and Santa were actually the same person. Given the previous year’s experience my parents had wisely changed strategies and said Santa wouldn’t be coming in person but would leave a stocking with presents at the end of my bed. I decided at that point to create a trap that would at last prove me right. After wishing my family goodnight I went to my room and set up an elaborate booby trap of strings and cans that would be triggered when someone entered my room. I will never forget awakening to the sound of my Grandfather’s frightened howl and then laughter, finding himself tangled up in my booby trap holding my Christmas stocking. At last I had my victory, caught red handed – Santa Claus and Grandpa were indeed one and the same. Although one side of me was sad that I lost Santa that night and all things magical, I am grateful for the growth in my prefrontal cortex and all the tempering it brought. I think I still might write Santa a letter this year but perhaps I will ask my husband to post it ; )
Wishing all of you a very merry and magical holiday season.