Talking Leaves

 I was recently advised not to give direct instruction to my daughter. I'd noticed that my standard command--"Take a deep breath"--didn't accomplish anything. Susie would be in the grip of near-murderous rage, and my "deep breath" suggestion would only backfire. The rage would grow.

Perhaps I could present myself as a character--could tell a story about my former self. "As a little kid, I would sometimes get so excited, I would forget to breathe. Then, when I remembered to breathe, I could feel calm again." This is the "Daniel Tiger" approach. Of course Daniel Tiger is wagging a finger at his child-audience--almost constantly. But the finger-wagging happens in an "indirect" way, so it becomes tolerable.

A parent is asked to (a) infer what is wrong, (b) empathize, (c) shift plans accordingly. I'm better with my son than with my daughter. My proudest moment in the past week involved getting my son into the car. He suddenly didn't want to go to a nearby farm--and couldn't articulate why he was resisting the transition. I had an epiphany: He would get in the car if he could hold onto his little firetruck trash can. I knew this would work, because tutoring becomes more enjoyable for me if I can clutch a small take-out cup of herbal tea. The trash can appeared, and the trip unfolded in the way that everyone wanted.

Kevin Henkes writes so beautifully about kids and parents. In the scene included here (from "Still Sal"), a young dad must brainstorm a solution to his daughter's non-problem. In a brilliant move, Henkes writes from the point of view of the small child, for whom the non-problem really *is* a problem. Sometimes, adults see kids as tedious, but Henkes seems to have boundless interest in a kid's inner life. In one fine moment, he has the little girl brainstorming an "awful" sentence--one that will win attention for her, but will not seem *so* scandalous that it will "require" a punishment. When I read this scene, I see my own daughter on the page.

I'm grateful that Henkes is still writing. I think I'm not alone in wishing for a return of the mice--Chester, Owen, et al.--but I'll take what I can get.