Force and Detail

You both were very stubborn and very curious as kids.

I still remember when (names withheld by request) getting you dressed was a 90 minute ordeal.  You just refused to wear the clothes that we tried to put on you.  It did not really matter if it was a dress (hint on who this was), pants, shorts, or God Forbid - shoes of any description.  After wrestling with you for an hour to get clothes on you and your hair brushed, the first minute we walked out of the room you took all of your clothes off.   The day it all came to a head, was an epic 2 hour battle to get you dressed.  It was so frustrating that day we had to take a break.   Sitting at the table we were planing our next strategy on how to trick, convince, or coerce you into clothes.   After settling on a plan we walked into your room prepared for battle and there you sat on the floor dressed like a circus clown.  Every piece of your clothing was a different color and on backwards and you were beaming.  From that point on you had a lot of latitude in what you wore and going places was a lot easier.  You always have had boundaries, but forcing you to wear cute matching outfits was never high on the list.  A side note, a lot of people who saw you then did not think there was anything wrong with you, they just assumed that something was wrong with us as parents because we dressed you like that.  Having a happy, really badly dressed kid was better choice than the alternative. 

When ever you force anyone to do something, you will always get the bare minimum results back.  That universal role extends to family, loved ones, work associates, and random strangers. 

I also remember (again names withheld by request) when you were sitting in your room in front of a large garden level window.  Your sister was out in the yard (hint on who this was) and I was sitting in your room with you.  You pointed to the window, broke out in a big grin and wobbled over to the window. I patiently explained the whole window thing and how you should not have lean on, push, or kick the window because it would hurt you.  You looked up at me and I was thinking I am a damn good Dad because I took all that time and explained it to you and I was sure by the look in your eyes that you understood completely.  I leave the room and was going to tell your mom what a great dad I was when I heard glass breaking in the room I just left you in.  My heart fell out of my chest.  We both ran back in the room and the glass in the window was broken, cracks from the center to the outer edges of the window.  I realized that I neglected to mention not to attempt to open the window with your forehead.  You were unharmed, I removed a small pin drop of glass from your forehead.  That was hard to do because you were laughing your ass off.  For reference this is the equivalent of watching a high speed car wreck happen in front of you and the driver stepping out of his car laughing.

More detail is not always the right thing.  The more detail the more limiting something becomes.  I realized after I spoke to you in your room your pea head only processed the first 4 or 5 words I said.  Remember the Occum's Razor rule.

Love Dad