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The Behavioral Coach

 It's said that "The Simpsons" has the success it has because of its twin subjects: family and folly. There will always be family; there will always be folly. We will always feel an interesting ambivalence toward our blood relations. We will always behave in silly ways. And so there will always be "The Simpsons."


My son has a behavioral coach who visits on Tuesdays. I find this person well-intentioned and somewhat exasperating. She has built a career on challenging the gospel of potty training--the gospel that says, "Your child must display curiosity and readiness before you begin the process." The behavioral coach says, "Nope. Not true."

The coach's prodding so deeply irritates my son, he has started to shut her out. He isn't subtle. "Go away," he says, when she arrives. "Bye! Bye now!" Sometimes, he holds up a hand and says, "Stop talking. If you talk, I'm going to hit you."

Once, the coach suggested that my son needed visual cues; he needed to see photos of the afternoon ahead, so he wouldn't be surprised and aggressive during the 4pm visit. I thought this was bullshit. My son wasn't surprised by the visit. He was just pissed off about the potty training. He was rude to the coach because she pissed him off.

I didn't say any of this.

My secret is that I'm always on Joshua's side. The coach arrives and suggests a board game; Josh is tired, he has been in school, and he does not want to focus on color-coded cards and plastic chess pieces. He wants to be outside, to shoot hoops. I feel a profound identification with my son in these moments.

That said, I do think it would be great to get the potty situation under control. And so--like Marge Simpson--I drink a little wine. I cross my fingers. I nag a bit more than I'd like. Here's hoping for change.























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