Being Heard

Yesterday was another one of those clear tests of parenting skills. And it wasn't clear which way it would go.

My son had arrived at the music festival where he was to be scored on theory and two solo pieces, but he refused to go in. He was dressed beautifully, had practiced his pieces for weeks, and was all set, but had a very normal attack of stage fright. The thought of playing in front of other people had grabbed his insides.

At first I used the tool of simply not confronting his refusal head on, thus avoiding a power struggle. Instead I talked around it, empathized about how hard it was, asked if he preferred to stay in the car for a while or walk around and explore, asked about previous times he had done this. In this way I got him out of the car, and walking to the front door. A little momentum was generated, but I still wanted this to end on a positive note, not in him feeling coerced.

We walked the halls of the school toward the room for the theory test. He tried to walk in front of me to slow me down. By then I'd come up with one reasonably good strategy - I told him that at least he could do the theory bit. That was just answering questions on paper, not playing in front of anyone. And he'd get at least one medal out of the day if he did well. So he did that and came out looking a little more like himself.

When he came out of there I had my final winning strategy. I gave him a deal. I said that if he went through with it today, and really hated it, he would not have to do the two remaining events this spring. But feeling nervous on the day wasn't a good reason to pull out. It felt like a fair offer, both to me and to him. He nodded.

He played beautifully. Afterwards I asked him how it had all felt. He said that actually, it wasn't too bad. I said I was glad. Then we went for donuts.