Kid, Daddy Have Little Talk About Emotions

Kina got a little mad at me today and then did a not-nice thing that led to my putting her in time out, where she stewed silently for five minutes as she awaited her release. The fact that she didn’t scream and weep as I carried her to the room felt novel somehow, as did her seething discontent upon my return.

She kicked around the living room for a few moments, agreeing that she probably should not have spit in my face but not really promising never to spit in my face in the future. She gave me the cold shoulder and then marched to my room, where she buried herself under a blanket (pictured above).

Kina does not like to say that she is sorry. She will do nearly anything to avoid saying the words out loud, which is super irritating to me—the person to whom she most often owes an apology—and I often just push and push for her verbal acknowledgment of having wronged me. I have seen her go as far as mouthing the words while holding her breath, as if to form a regret-shaped die through which sorrow would otherwise be extruded, if only the material were there.

So, as I lay next to her on the bed, asking her about her emotions, I understood that the moment was not exactly about listening, per se, but literally about feeling.

During the early days of the pandemic, Kina learned some rudimentary sign language: “me too”, “quiet”, “yes”, and “no”. These signs all came in handy as her teachers wrestled with the cacophony of Zoom last year, and they came in handy this morning, because one of the stops on the way to apology stalemates for us is through sign language.

An example exchange:

“Did you mean to hurt Daddy?”

Forefinger and middle finger tap the thumb twice. No.

“Are you sorry?”

Fist wags up and down. Yes.

I may not be able to hear her say the words, but I can get her to show me. And this morning, I wanted her to show me how she was feeling, all tucked into the blanket for protection. I put my hand underneath and pressed it to the top of her hand.

“How are you feeling?”

Silence.

“Are you angry?”

The sensation of forefinger and middle finger tapping the thumb twice. No.

“Are you happy?”

The sensation of forefinger and middle finger tapping the thumb twice. No.

“Are you sad?”

The sensation of a fist wagging up and down. Yes.

“Are you sad because I took you to time out?”

The sensation of a fist wagging up and down. Yes.

“It’s okay for you to be angry or sad. I get angry and sad, too. I just need you to tell me that you’re angry or sad instead of hurting me. You can’t control your emotions, but you can control how you behave, and I’m always trying to be better at behaving with you. Can you do that for me? Even when I put you in time out, I love you, Kina. I always love you.”

She began to cry and crawled out of the blanket for a hug, and we snuggled for a while to let the other emotions dissipate. We had a moment. We had an understanding. We played Wordle.

A few minutes later, she wandered out to the living room to make me a card, which is how Kina says “I love you”. It means a lot more, if you’ve gotten one of Kina’s cards, than just hearing somebody say those words; it’s physical, like an offering. While Kina may not be particularly good at apologies, she’s good at gestures. They come in handy, I try to remind myself, whenever things get too loud for us to hear each other clearly.

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