Why do I have to be good?

My first grader recently threw this question at me - "Why do I have to be good?". I stood there aghast, wondering how to answer this. The rebellion started the moment we entered the house, after I had picked her up from daycare. She left her shoes on the floor, socks to one side, refusing to pick up after herself. Bathtime was kick-and-scream time; dinner ended up with my ordering her to "eat or else" and glaring menacingly (with a weeping heart) until she finished. Bedtime ended with her screaming and crying, refusing all my attempts at comforting her....Day after day after day this struggle continued. In all, the thought of coming home from work became overwhelming.....And I couldn't even believe I was thinking this. I must be a terrible, terrible mom.

I wondered what was triggering this. Alone in my adopted country, with no support from anyone, I had of late turned to parenting books for help with child rearing.Kamala has always been an intense child - with intense joy, intense concentration at any task she has taken up, intense anger, and intense sorrow that comes with heaving sobs and lasts a long while. This has stumped me many a time. I've found myself grabbing at straws, trying anything that might work - going from tender mom to amateur psychologist to benevolent dictator.....Something that works one day doesn't work on the next. I get no sympathy from family - they would laugh and say "Welcome to parenting. You were ten times worse!".

My biggest help was "Raising your spirited child" by Mary Sheedy-Kurcincka. Apparently my daughter had the traits that would make her very successful as an adult - taking tasks to completion, persistence, and assertiveness. She was great president material, if I'd only take a deep breath and prepare myself for the daunting task of raising her. There were several strategies to manage her intensity, and I meticulously learned them all.

But none of the strategies I learnt worked this time. I found myself tossing in bed - wondering if I was a failure on the fronts that mattered most. Perhaps, despite my intense love for children, I'm not cut out to be a mom. Perhaps I should've stayed in the marriage that was stifling my spirit and suffocating me. Maybe staying in a terrible marriage for the sake of the child was the right thing - and I had messed up big time....Have I? Perhaps all those who said, "Priya can calm any screaming child by just holding him/her" were wrong. Maybe this is my childhood karma getting back to me. Heck, maybe this is my rebellious-daughter bad karma getting back to me....God, I'd never signed up for this when I decided to be a parent. Why didn't anyone ever tell me it was this hard?

"She's testing your limits", says a neighbor. I'm thinking - she's always done that. "She's manipulating you. Take away privileges and ground her - no playtime until she behaves" says someone else. Playtime? We get home at 6:30 - where is the time to play? No, that won't work....The boyfriend laughs "Babe, you're fussing too much. Just treat her like an adult and give her small tasks. Don't cuddle too much, and she'll learn".

This worked for a day, for the sheer novelty of it. She liked folding her dresses, and stocking her things in her new bookshelf. Then it was back to the old nightmare. My colleague, parent of three, came up with a reward system "Give her stickers for good behavior and see. X number of stickers earned, and you'll do something special for her".

Hmmm. I decided to try that. Went out and bought two sets of stickers - a set of smileys and a set of "Super Kid" stickers. They are to go into the special journal I bought for her. She gets one smiley for good behavior in the morning, one in the evening. Five days like this and she'll get a Super Kid sticker. Two such and I'll take her to the zoo. Yes, that might work. Or not....I was afraid to even think of that possibility.

I explained this scheme to her on the way home from daycare. She listened sullenly, interrupting angrily several times. But I persisted "If you be good tonight, you'll get a smiley. Isn't that fun?".

Now came "Why do I have to be good?".

I was prepared this time - "Because, good behavior causes others to appreciate you. And nothing can make me happier than hearing good things about you. See, last summer when your teacher said you were smart, I felt wonderful". I forced a hopeful smile, despite my quivering heart.

More sullenness. "Why do I have to earn the sticker?". I could feel my anger rise, but kept it in check. We were home now, and she angrily pulled off her shoes, tossing them to one side and socks to another. "Amma, why do I have to earn it? Why can't you just GIVE it to me?"

Sigh! These kids have too much privilege. Maybe some deprivation will help, I think perversely. "Kamala - I'm not going to just GIVE it to you, okay? You'll have to earn it with good behavior. You need to pick up your stuff, bathe at bathtime, eat dinner at the right time, and brush your teeth to earn it. That is ALL I expect. Now how hard is that?".

She pondered this for a moment. Then the pout came out, and the set jaw: "I don't have to earn it".

Dear God, give me patience. She was lying there right on the carpet, refusing to move - refusing to go onto the evening routine. I steel myself to the start of another bad evening.

"Too bad, Kamala. I'm not giving it to you, and that's that!".

I see the jaw tightening, the little fists clenching, the rising anger.

"Why can't you just give it to me, amma?".
"Because you have to be good and earn it".

The tears start to come and I brace myself again for tantrums.

"But amma, can't you see, I can NEVER earn it!! I can never, never earn it".

The tears come faster, with great, racking sobs. I see her writhing on the floor, her head shaking from side to side. "I can NEVER earn it! Never!"

Huh?? I kneel down beside her and try to scoop up the little resisting body, asking gently "Why do you think that, Kamala?".

More sobbing, and then "Because I can never be good".

She is in foetal position now, sobbing her heart out. Ok, so this is it. I walk over to the couch, the sobbing child in my arms. I turn her face to mine and try to peer into her streaming eyes.

"Why, child?".
"Because I can't be. Don't you see, everybody thinks I'm bad".
"Who's everybody?"
"The teachers at my new school. You see, I get timeouts for fidgeting in the chair, for running at recess in the corridor. Timeouts for talking, for this, and that. I never got these in my old montessori school. Here they give me timeouts for silly things like this. You ask me to drink lots of water, my teacher asks why I'm drinking so much"

Ah. The montessori to traditional school transition. But she said school was easy! I had prepared her teachers in advance. Kamala was doing so well. So much that I was relieved and grateful to God for this resilient child. Maybe things were easy only academically.

"Who else thinks you're `bad' ?"
"Daddy said I was a bad girl the other day, when Iris and I got into a fight"
"And?"
"And....just, everybody. Everybody thinks I'm bad - so you see, I can't ever be good!".

The sobbing starts again, and I hold her face to mine, gently rocking her.
"I don't think so, child."
The sobbing ceases for a moment."You don't - what?"
"I don't think you're bad"
"But everyone else does. So I must be bad, right?"
"Nope. Not at all. Nobody knows you as well as I do, and I KNOW that you can never be bad. My Kamala simply doesn't have it in her to be bad - and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool"

She looks at me for a long moment. A great sigh escapes from her. I can feel her shoulders relax, her body relax. She goes limp in my arms. What a weight this child must've carried all these days!

"So it doesn't matter what anyone thinks?"
"No"
She ponders this again, and I decide to lighten up her mood."See, I've known you since you were a little watermelon in my tummy, alright? These people don't know what they're talking about".

A shy smile at that. The "watermelon" is a standing joke between us. It usually draws a smile from her. Her eyes are still teary, but the smile is there all the same. I hug and hold her close, relieved and tired. This has been an emotionally draining week. Thank God something positive came out of it.

"Amma?" a little, muffled voice at my shoulder. God, what now?
"Was I a good watermelon?"
I hide a smile. "Of course, dear. You were the best!".

And thus passed one more storm in our parent-child relationship. There will be others, but Kamala earned her sticker that day - and the next.