Not Excuse Me

Originally published in the Coloradoan on September 27, 2009


"No more candy," I said. In the gym locker room after a swim, Sophia pursed her lips and glared at her evil Daddy. Then with uncanny comic timing she, uh, passed gas. With her eyes barely visible under the shadow of furrowed eyebrows, she said in her best angry voice: "NOT excuse me!"

"You're not, not excused," I responded and got dressed.

I was proud. Sophia had articulated an honest refrain in a world rife with euphemisms.

In the name of shameless self-preservation, we adults consistently display unsavory behaviors like passive-aggression ("I'm fine") or unreasonable retorts ("It's all your fault anyway"). I often have trouble conveying genuine emotions, even to people I love and trust, for fear of feeling guilty.

While adults are jaded by experience and often depend on others to boost their self-esteem, 3-year-olds have egos the size of swimming pools and don't care about what others think. All people and events revolve around them, and as such, they make their feelings quite clear. Nothing is more important than what they feel now.

Says Dr. Angele Fauchier, a child psychologist at the University of New Hampshire, "Three-year-olds can't manipulate emotions because they don't understand what others do and do not know, and therefore can't adjust their statements to deceive others."

If only grown-ups were so transparent.

I tried to retract my developing smile quickly enough that Sophia wouldn't see my reaction. But the laughter that had been waiting inside my belly, compressed by a fatherly instinct to not embarrass my child, escaped. I looked around the locker room. No one else had witnessed my daughter's moment of honest indignation. I was forced to savor the moment alone.

Her chin lifted slightly as she too allowed herself to enjoy the levity, until she realized that she needed to feign anger just a little longer. "I'm see-wee-us," she said.

"You were so mad at me, you farted," I said in mock surprise and pinched my nose. "Pee-yew!"

She laughed and I had my window. "No sweets before dinner. That's our rule," I said.

Sophia was angry at my decision. And after I made light of a common bodily function, she forgot her frustration and heeded the rules. Our duel was over, never to be spoken of again.

Ask any parent and they'll tell you that petulance is not a favorite emotion, but is at least rooted in honesty. When Ella, my 6-year-old, or Sophia tell me I'm not their friend, I know where I stand. The tantrums and ear-shattering screams are, of not pleasant, genuine. I can deal with the noise because it's always short lived. I don't worry about my daughters holding a grudge or telling my peers to ignore me or...

As you can see, I already fear pre-adolescence.

I learned a lesson from my preschooler, who goes about her life with a clarity I envy. The next time I'm tempted to take shelter behind my pride and manipulate others with emotional trickery, I'll first consider not excusing myself.