Saiga's Notes

Archie was desperately afraid of fires. The fear petrified the son immediately at the idea of lighting a stove. All attempts to teach him how to cook came to a dead end at the gas stove. Guess how his brutal father reacted? One of either two things: forcing the kid to try to overcome the fear or blaming for absence of courage.  My hysteria was only to fuel the child’s resistance and fear. So, finally, I put it off for the better time to try again. Motivation first We suddenly faced the issue again at a lesson dedicated to self-learning methods. My son is a homeschooler so we his parents started teaching him about managing self-education as early as primary school. That day, I offered the son to write down his goal and break his plan into feasible steps.  “Let me see,” I asked when he finished.  ‘Cooking pasta’ in the Goal line while the first step was “not to fear fire”. I scrabbed my chin. The son looked upset. How can I get through this first step, the little face showe...

I’m a jerk.  When the quarantine situation was in the very beginning of the trend to reverse back to normal life, I had to visit a dentist. Don’t forget you mask and gloves, the receptionist said when making an appointment for me by phone. “What are the gloves needed for?” I asked. “You’ve got that hand desinfection gel at the entrance.” “Yes, you also must use gel,” answered the receptionist. “And wear gloves over desinfected hands?” I put some sarcasm. “Exactly.” “I don’t get the logic here. So the gel doesn’t work?” “It does.”  “Then I can go without gloves?” “I’m sorry but that’s the law,” she answered apologetically. I gave up. At the office, I was cocky. I couldn’t help grumbling at the receptionist and didn’t wear gloves. She was restrained and polite to the end and pretended not noticing my hands were bare. Seeing me so unusually uptight (I’m a calm disciplined person normally), my dentist asked empathetically, «You don’t like all this, do you?» “Radically,” I answered...

Five hours in a row, I watched six-year-old Archie’s getting ever more exhausted and headstrong. He half-lay on the park bench twice with eyes closed just to bounce up hearing the dad’s soft voice asking if he wanted to sleep. I could remember the other day last year when he got stuck in песочнице until he peed twice in his pants, desperately chilled but kept playing on and on.  I tried reasoning that tomorrow we’d come again, that other kids were gone and he got bored. Proposals of cartoons, drinks, food were sharply set aside. Did he want to pee? “No” again. I didn’t feel like taking him home by force. My wife and I had put so much efforts in coping with his reluctance to go outdoors. It’s for the first time after the winter that he took his bicycle with him and immediately got so crazy about that. And now me going back? No way! The fifth hour was coming to an end when finally I could make it right. “Archie, will you tell mom how your time out was?” He shook his head: “It wasn't ...

I sat down on the sand and said, “Let's tell funny stories by turns.” Three turns later, it seemed like Archie was ready.  “Ok pal, rules change. Let's both stand in the shallow water and step forward with each new story.” I started telling my next story and took a step, sinking ankle-deep. But it wouldn't work. The river talked louder. Its language was acutely chill streams and sudden touches of gravel, plants and snails, all hidden by the gleaming surface. The fear gained power with Archie’s every step until it overwhelmed when waist-deep. Watching him, anger was stirring inside of me. Why, the kid's kidding me, it can't be that scary, he's pretending in order to shun a difficult task! I wanted to press on him, to shout... but that moment I looked into the face I loved and saw fear in his big brown eyes. He didn't pretend. It was not fear but the Fear.  It broke the spell I was under. The anger blew away, remorse and relief taking its place. He's just ...

My kei car fools everybody about the size of its cargo compartment. Once the three of us, my wife, son and I, picked up a TV set from friends, quite a fair-sized 21'' device in a box. The son inspected the box and remarked: “It must be put on the roof bars.” He was somewhere else when I was loading the TV set - not onto the bars but into the luggage section. Time to leave, he comes in and sees that there's nothing on the roof. “Uh-oh, we forgot the thing!” “Dad'd put it in the luggage compartment,” mom explains. “Nuh-uh, it's big, it won't never fit inside.” “Yes it's big but the car's bigger so it did.” He puts up with the fact, gets into the car, clicks the belt buckle and draws the line below: “The TV set is not on the roof, it's inside the car. The car’s GROWN BIGGER.”

Introverts feel awesome when homeschooling, but kids of that kind are also most prone to self-isolation. Enjoying the quiet world of theirs, they feel constant temptation to shun even the necessary minimum of socializing – for instance, to report about work done or even to get support. Communicating to people comes with risk of tension and conflicts, acutely painful for introvertial kids. They avoid it by all means and this is a downward spiral because a lack of practice is making them ever worse communicators. That's my son Archie. Choosing not the most efficient but the most individual approaches. Browsing in the Web instead of asking mom. Twisting away from regular reporting on progress. Insulting me with pessimistic remarks “no sense in all of that” or going hysterical when I apply parent's authority to force him into reporting. He doesn't do this on purpose, just acts on the subconscious getaway program.  All the while, he was always understanding being wrong, blamed h...

Thanks to a charismatic yet ill-mannered older relative, my son has taken to annoy people with uncalled-for thoughtless categorical remarks. That stuff had stuck in him so deeply that he didn't realize doing this, just couldn't keep in. Often, we his parents couldn't help getting mad trying to discuss something important with him. We're not so bad at adapting to different personalities but with this issue, he always took us aback, coming to this mood out of the blue as if he'd got up on the wrong side of the bed. Understanding came too late, after the wrong words has already been said. That day, he started squabbling while we were working on his study plan. Whatever I said, was met with penny arguments. “Look, you just object to everything I say and it doesn't get us nowhere,” I said, feeling ready to burst out with anger. “No I don't.” “Yes you do. Right now you're inhaling and your mouth is open to give another argument.” He realized that he was in...