P and Me

P is a nickname I have  in writing for Pierson. P is sweet and still, simple and humble.

A few years ago we were on a trip in Paris taking the bus. I looked over at P and filled with love for him I said, "tu es mon Cheri amour?" ("Are you my darling love?"). He looked at me sweetly and replied, "no just Pierson" -- and that is P.

Most of the time he is Pierson, my larger that life lion, with a zest for life. He has a sunshine smile that will light up a room. He is proud and strong. He loves beauty, flowers, colors and trees. He also loves Pokemon and video games. He is fearless and will speak his mind whether asked or not. This is my Pierson, in all his uniqueness, that I admire and celebrate and wonder where it all comes from.

Then there are the other sides of Pierson...the more complex, difficult sides -- the sides that push all my  buttons, and drive me to my wits end. And here I find the mirror. I want to take up my sword of righteousness and my shield of life's experiences. I am ready for battle, but he quickly pulls out his steel sword of will and shield of the energy of a thousand soldiers, and the struggle begins.

This is the blessing and the curse of a child that has so much of me. I can feel it, I can see so clearly -- the struggle, the reasoning, the difficulty. I want to say it does not have to be so. You do not have to be perfect or go it alone. Let your strong fire melt your pride, and know that correction and guidance are not criticisms to hurt you. Rather, they are pearls of wisdom, a gift to be kept and strung together to one day be of profit, something of value. 

The empathy comes easy, like a free flowing river. I understand so fully. I await with open arms and know no words are needed. They will only make things worse. I give him his time and space, and when he feels ready he will come back with his six year old reason, trying to understand and make sense of the ocean of emotions that have over swept him and carry him away. 

The battle subsides. I am drained and humbled. He does not seem so affected -- he is humming or drawing, and there he is P. 

I ponder on the dynamic, and am reminded of my own inability to master my emotions and feel softened. How can I expect his six year old being to possibly master his? The truth of the mirror has done it's work for today. I want to start over, I want it to be easy, to be perfect. But that is not me, and that is not P.