I have a young son. He is still at the age when he thinks grocery shopping is exciting (he gets to sit in the cart and tries to topple displays). He seems to have a dynamo inside him. If ever there was a perpetual motion machine, he is it.
It is getting to be noon. Soon the schoolbus will arrive to take my son to school. There are about 60 minutes to go, give or take. In football time - it is a lifetime, careers can be made. In cricketing terms, it is enough time to get settled, to play yourself in. In feeding-a-child time it is but an instant.
Time to commence operations. I set the first stage in motion. Laissez Faire.
This is the ideal we work towards. I saunter across to where my son is playing and nonchalantly mention to him that his food is on the table. I expect him to leave the train he is playing with, go across to the table, sit himself down and finish his food. It rarely happens. But being conscientious parents, we want to achieve this ideal, so this is where we start.
I have heard of parents of teenage boys having the reverse problem - how to get them off the table once they start eating. That problem is still a decade off for us.
Expectedly, nothing happens. Tiger gives no indication that he has heard me. The train continues its inexorable march to the edge of the bed.
We seamlessly move into Stage II: Enticement.
"Look! What are we having for dinner today!! It looks YUMMY!!! I REALLY LIKE THIS." I go up a few decibels and try to inject as much excitement and intrigue into my voice as I can muster. I feel like a used car salesman. I know he is having spinach and cheese, which can be 'yummy' only under exceptional circumstances and these are unexceptional times.
The salesmanship also elicits no action, though the tone and volume make him look up from the train. He has bought lemons before. He knows it is 'yummy' spinach and cheese.
He is back to the train.
Next we try the Logical Stage.
"Come, son, we have to go to school and have to have dinner before we leave so you can be a BIG Boy!"
"I want to play."
"But we have to finish dinner so we can go to school"
"Ok, I don't want school"
In one swoop of logic he has swept aside both school and the meal.
We need some results and fast. Time to move to Stage III: Parental Authority.
"You have to go to school and you have to eat." Tiger looks confused now. He thought we were in for a logic based exchange and here I am pulling rank.
I carry him over to the table and buckle him into his high chair, thus preventing escape. This ensures proximity to food but does not ensure actual consumption. That is entirely another matter. I sit across the table from him.
It is now fifteen minutes since this exercise started. I check the scorecard.
Plus: I have him strapped into his chair.
Minus: No food has been eaten yet.
We might still beat the clock.
I set the yummy spinach and cheese in front of him. He gently pushes it away. "No."
"You must eat, Tiger, you need to go to school soon."
"I don't want school today. I want holiday." He brightens up at this brilliant idea. He thinks we can still have a logical conversation.
"You have to go to school. You'll have a holiday on Saturday."
"And holiday on Sunday." he says just to be sure we are not shortchanging him.
I push the bowl back to him. "Why don't you eat all by yourself like a big boy!" I encourage him.
" I am a little boy" he says and at 100 centimetres tall, he is not far off the mark. The bowl is back to my side of the table.
When my wife and I were newly married and had not yet had children, we would talk about how we would make our children independent and well-behaved and get them to eat on their own with no TV or other distractions. We would never overfeed them or bribe them. We would be strict. Firm but fair.
Ha!
"How about we have ice-cream after we finish dinner?" I ask him. We are both in the realm of the reward mechanism now. Commonly known as bribery.
He knows the bus is about to come. We might not be able to have both dinner and ice cream before that happens.
"Ok, how about I have ice cream now."
"First dinner, then ice cream."
"I don't want dinner please. I want ice cream."
We've been teaching him to ask nicely and not to shout and if he does not want something to say no thank you. Evidently, we have taught him well.
I push the plate back to him again. "First dinner then ice cream." He considers that and puts a spoonful of spinach in his mouth. He looks at me and deadpans "Mmmmm Yummy". I let it pass and play along. "See I told you it was yummy. Let's have some more."
"I don't want more. Now is ice cream time." Since sarcasm is lost on me, he decides to be direct.
My wife walks in. "How much has he eaten?" She doesn't need an answer. It is time to tag her into the ring. I hand over the chair to her.
"Who wants to watch TV?" The Battle of Wits and Deception has begun.
"I want TV."
"You start eating dinner and Papa will switch on the TV."
Tiger picks up the spoon again and gets some spinach into his mouth. This is my cue. I switch on the TV. He eats a couple more spoonfuls of spinach. I flip through channels to find him something spinach friendly to watch.
A few more minutes of eating. He chews the spinach meditatively while watching TV. The magic of TV is fading. Realizing this my wife tells him a story to speed up proceedings. A few more spoonfuls. I steal a glance at his bowl. A little under a third is gone. We have another twenty minutes to go. The story is nearing completion. The food is not.
"Baby you are late - eat quickly. We have to finish dinner" My wife bucks him up. Our stalwart catches on to the 'we'. "Ok. Feed Mama. Must share." A spoonful of spinach is headed to Mama's nose. I make a timely exit.
I return in fifteen minutes. There is food everywhere. On the floor, on the table, on the parent, on the child. By this time, Grandfather, who is around, either looks angry and at the end of his tether or a bit distraught and tries to appear totally immersed in the book/newspaper seemingly oblivious to the goings-on in this household, depending upon whether he lent a hand in feeding the tyke or not. The child looks slightly smug. The mother looks like it is my fault.
The bowl is empty. The rule of parenting that I have learnt with experience is that if the bowl is empty, assume the food is inside the child. Whatever you might see around you contrary to this assumption is an illusion.
In the remaining five minutes we get him showered and changed in time to catch his schoolbus.
Our little dynamo keeps humming.
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