Sean was four and a half. Please be sure to include the “half”- it was important to him.
His brothers were much older than he, by almost seven years, and Sean heard them calling one another names – “You’re stupid! No, you’re stupid! Shutup! No you shutup!” And then usually, an impromptu wrestling match would follow. Most of the times, it was fun-wrestling, like he and his dad did, or the dogs did when they were being silly. Some of the times, it was mad-wrestling, when one or both of the big boys would end up in their in their rooms. But usually it was a lot of fun, because the big boys would smile breathlessly as they pounded on one another.
Sean had a small feeling that these words might be very powerful – they brought on the fighting! - but he hadn’t known quite how powerful they were until one day, when his mommy spilled his juice and he had laughed and called her stupid, just like James did to Mike. Surprisingly, his mommy had admonished him. So he thought he’d carry the jokes on and told her to shut up. Sean had been sure to smile when he had said those words to her, but mommy didn’t seem to smile back. And she did not want to wrestle.
Sean learned on that day those two words could cause a lot of trouble. Mommy had banished them from the house. “Stupid” and “shutup” were not allowed in her house. By anyone. Ever again.
But those stubborn words would not disappear completely. The big boys said them outside sometimes, and Sean heard them at preschool. And there were vague grumblings about the “forbidden s-word” from his dad. But Sean was confused – weren’t there two s-words? Was it all just one? Which one was daddy talking about? Still Sean thought it best not to bring them up. Despite the fact that they occasionally still swum around inside his brain, especially when he was feeling really silly, or maybe a little mad, but he most definitely wouldn’t let the s-words swim out of his mouth. He didn’t want to be banished from the house, like they had been.
But there was one day, Sean couldn’t help it.
He had woken up grumpy. One of the dogs had taken his slippers downstairs and his feet were cold on the bathroom floor. There were no waffles for breakfast – the big boys had finished them - and his favorite shirt was in the wash. Sean had also forgotten it was Tuesday. He thought he was going to be able to go to Abby’s house this morning, but instead he realized he had to go to preschool.
Preschool was fine, but it wasn’t as much fun as Abby’s house.
Things were just getting worse and worse.
He had been just sitting down to watch Blues’ Clues, when his mom reminded him to get his shoes, they were leaving in fifteen minutes. Sean’s brow had furrowed, he had just sat down. And besides, “I don’t want my shoes. I want my sneakers.”
His mom’s eyebrows had gone up, but she just said, “Oh-kay,” and helped him get his sneakers out of the coat closet and on his feet.
His mom had then said, “Sean, please go get your backpack.”
Sean had replied, “I don’t want to wear my backpack.”
His mom had explained, “You need it to bring your snack.”
Sean had countered, “I don’t want a snack.”
“Oh boy,” his mom had sighed. “Come on Sean, let’s get moving.”
“I don’t want to get moving.” He just wanted to sit on the couch. And finish his sippy. And watch Blues’ Clues and go to Abby’s and find his slippers and not have cold feet and eat his waffles.
His mother picked him up off the couch, he went stiff. “Sean, please cooperate.”
“I don’t want to cooperate!”
His mommy put the unusually stubborn little boy on her hip, and grabbed his backpack, her keys and her purse. Her eyebrows were drawn down but not as far as Sean’s. Sean pulled them down even further, he was mad. Mad words wrestled around inside of his head.
She opened up the door to their silvery mini-van and put him down in his car seat. ‘Let’s buckle up.”
“I don’t want to buckle up.”
“Sean,” she said, attempting to soothe with her tone and placate him with the logic of the situation, “we have to drive to school, so for safety, you must buckle up.”
“I don’t want to have safety!” Sean yelled.
Clearly, there wasn’t much room for further discussion, Sean’s mother patiently pulled his stiff arms through the harness and clicked her frustrated son in to the seat. She glided his car door shut and sat herself in the driver’s seat, buckled in, turned her keys and slid the minivan down the long driveway. She saw her son’s upset face in the rearview mirror – his mouth set, his brows drawn very low over the bridge of his little red nose, his eyes shifting angrily first left, and then right.
Then Sean’s mommy heard him mutter under his breath the only words that he could think of to accurately portray his unrelenting frustration of this ridiculous mandatory preschool attendance, “I’m not going to that stupidshutup school.”
It was all she could do to keep from laughing right out loud.
