Developing empathy and other things

Jack’s playschool is very conscientious and sends home reports on his progress from time to time.  The last one wrote that he had exceptional language skills but something they called empathy needed development.  I was alarmed by this bit of information.  Jack had bitten his mother in the swimming pool last time we went and even though he had kissed it better on command I could see he wasn’t really sincere about the kiss.  His baby brother is due any day now and it seems to me imperative that this empathy development gets underway. 

When we set out  for the shopping mall last Wednesday I tucked Woodhen and a rag doll (Dolly) in beside Jack in the pushchair.

“Dolly’s got a tummyache” I say, “You’ve got to look after her.”

He didn’t stay in the pushchair long but hopped out and ran down the road saying “Emergency” and cuddling each traffic sign he passed like a ittle pole dancer.  I understood though.  He was being a fireman from Fireman Sam the television program.  Sometimes he called me Sam in the playground and he has adopted an endearing thumbs up sign he’d got from the program too.  As I walked and he ran it looked like being a gentle morning of play and good humour.

Toilet training has been hastily added to Jack’s developmental regime on account of his younger brother’s imminent arrival.

“Do you want to do a pee?”  I say pee and his mother says wee.  I wonder if it matters and which is best.

“No” he says anyway.

We got to the shopping mall and I let Jack stand on the escalator instead of sitting in the stroller as usual.  It seemed timely.  There’d be another baby in the stroller soon and he’d have to do it then.  It was a bit scary as we both rose rigid to the top.

“Jump, jump” I said as the stroller went sideways and Woodhen and Dolly fell out.

“Poor Woodhen. Poor Dolly” I said, but Jack was already on his way to the next escalator

We did our stuff and he was remarkably well behaved in the bank.  We went up and down several escalators and Jack soon adopted an air of casual nonchalance as he stood holding the rubber rail until it was time to step off.

“No more escalators’  I said “What about some warm milk with a straw.”

“OK” he agreed.

‘Do you want to do a pee?” I remembered to ask

“No” he said in a clipped tone.

We got to the café and I asked if he wanted to sit on the vinyl bench or have a high chair.  He opted for the bench.  I got his milk and also a little chocolate motorbike in silver paper.

“Because you’re being so grown up” I said

I suppose Jack’s focus was on airily living up to his new adult like role and not on the milk because he dropped it almost straight away.

I said “Oh shit” and went and got a handful of paper napkins but a tall stranger emerged from the milling public.

“Move to another table” he said .

For a moment I was alarmed.  What was this?  Then he pulled out a phone and I realized he was an undercover security person.  He sorted everything out and even organized another milk with a straw.  Jack said thank you to the mop up man when I prompted him to so and we got up to go.

“Do you want to pee ?”

“No

“Well I do.”  So we went to the very new toilets which open when you press a button.  Jack pressed and I provided a nice example of going to the toilet.

“Do you want to pee too?”  

Jack was, however, unmoved.

 “No” he said and shot ahead of me as I manoevred the stroller out of the Ladies.  He spotted a button on the wall that opened the Disabled toilet and pressed it. He went in and pressed it again and it locked with a clack.

“Oh bloody hell” I thought.  The door was opaque glass and there were Jack’s hands whacking away at it as he howled. theatrically .  I was just wondering how to get hold of one of those undercover security people when Jack pressed the button again and let him out before sliding closed.  He was all for repeating the adventure but I’d had enough.  I wrangled him into the pushchair on top of Dolly and Woodhen.  He pulled Dolly out  from under by the arm which ripped and slid out of the sleeve of her jacket.  “Psychopath” I thought meanly but I said “Poor Dolly” and stuffed the arm back up the sleeve.  Jack didn’t seem bothered and I thought perhaps his mother and I needed to talk about this.

We stopped at the rather good Victoria Park playground on the way home and Jack launched himself at the big rope dome.  He awed me by his capacity to climb.  “When did this happen?” I thought.  He used to be so cautious.  Higher and higher he went.  There was a Chinese family in the playground as well.  Their boys were older and climbing too, but without Jack’s reckless passion.

He was far above me when the beat of water on the rubberized ground made me look up.  A small waterfall was tumbling from Jack’s shorts.  He watched it with fascination, frozen on his rope.  “Bugger” I thought,   The older boys politely averted their gaze.

“Come down Jack.  You’re all wet.  We’d better go home”  But it seemed he couldn’t move now.  He was stuck.  I considered asking one of the other boys to get him down but I decided it wasn’t fair when he was so wet, and so with great difficulty I grumbled my way up to him.  He was wide eyed and he clung to me like a limpet as I got him down the rope rungs.  Even though he was wet the hug was nice.  Not the hug of a psychopath for sure.

We skulked home both wet and smelly and when Rachel came back I told her about our different troubles.  I was just going to get on to the subject of empathy development and what we should do about it when Jack fixed her with his big hazel gaze and began one of his incomprehensible narratives. Form seems to precede content when children are learning to tell a story and they quickly become very boring because you can only understand the odd word here and there and there is never an end in sight.

“OK Jack” I said “That’s enough.  I want to talk to mummy about poor Dolly’s arm”   hoping  perhaps for a moment of remorse.

But Jack had triumphantly reached his climax.

“You see Grandma rescued me!”

There was a complicated moment of pride – for Jack’s brilliant flash of coherence,  for his gratitude and of course for my own heroic capability as Grandma fireman Sam.

Rachel and I never did get round to talking about empathy training and maybe its just as well.  Some things happen in their own time.  Meanwhile I get out a needle and strong twine and begin to sew on Dolly’s arm.