Lucas, you say it often. “You’re not the boss of me.” I don’t think it’s something you’ve practiced saying at school, something you’ve learned to say to other children on the playground, and I don’t think they’re words of defiance. You’re not a brat. Maybe what the deepest part of you is saying is, “I need to be free.”
You’re a good kid, and I have to read that pulse. I can’t treat you just as I’d treat your sister because you have different temperaments. Your soul seems to sing if it’s left on its own, to cruise. You know the rules, and you’ll follow them with gentle reminders. When you say, “You’re not the boss of me,” and I respond, “You’re the boss of you, and so am I, sir!” I ought to remember that it might be your way of communicating, “I know who I AM, and I can tune in to my life’s purpose without your input. Don’t try to drown me out.”
You might be very clear and connected to who you are, and I don’t want to see you lose your way. But, Kind Sir, when it’s time for bed, it’s time for bed. And when it’s cold as a penguin’s testicle* outside, you’re not wearing a tank top to school.
* I imagine a penguin’s testicle to resemble a snowflake, or asterisk, as it were. But given that a penguin’s testicle is up inside the bird’s body, I’m sure it’s not all that cold. Still, it sounds cold.