After We Turned Off The Internet…
“No! Don’t turn off the internet!”
You don’t need the internet to come in here and read a book.
“I was busy trying to read, but you turned off the internet, so now I have to wait for you to turn it back on!”
We’re waiting for you to come in here and read a book with us.
“But I really have books on my iPhone! Trust me, Dad!”
I picked a real book for you to read, so stop wasting time.
“I’ve got some really great books on my iPhone that I want to read, but you turned off the internet, so I can’t read them! Please turn it back on!”
I have a great book right here, that I want you to read with us.
“I was actually reading, but now my reading app doesn’t work. I’ll get electrocuted if I don’t read it right now!”
That’s ridiculous.
“That’s why I was busy, you guys! I was reading!”
You won’t get your iPad back if you don’t come in here and read with us.
“But I was trying to read, and my reading app will electrocute me if I don’t do it right now!”
No reply, as I was laughing under my breath.
“Okay Dad, I’m coming now.” He slowly meandered into the living room, sat on the couch, and picked up the book I presented.
I sat on the floor, to make space for him. He pushed his bare feet at me, because he enjoys the stimming I provide with foot reflexology.
Hey Siri, set timer for fifteen minutes.
He began reading slowly, and making up substitute words for those he doesn’t know. He said ‘K’ is for cake and argued with me that it was really in the book.
I want to see that.
“No, you can’t look.” He held the book close to his chest. He also reached into my cup of lemon ice water, and popped some ice chunks into his mouth.
Hey! That’s my drink!
“Too bad. It’s mine now. Ha ha.” He grabbed more ice and continued reading, or pretending to read, with a mouth full of ice.
You can’t read with a mouth full of ice.
He mumbled some excuse.
I bet your teacher doesn’t let you make up words while you read books.
“Actually we have silent reading time, and I make up words while I’m reading by myself.”
You Made Me Break The Faucet
I wanted to get Trevin away from staring at his iPad, watching silly videos, so I suggested a few things: A ride in the new car. Reading a book with me. Watching a movie. No thank you. No thank you. No thank you.
I started previewing some movies that might be appropriate. A Minecraft Movie? Kindergarten Cop 2? These used offensive language.
From his room, Trevin hollered out that he changed his mind. He wanted Ralph Wrecks The Internet. There was some irony here. Yesterday, we had a big argument when I turned off the internet.
Now it felt like I was making some progress! He actually helped me choose a decent movie, from the Apple TV app. I figured he would sit on the couch with me and watch Ralph Wrecks The Internet. Some quality time with his dad!
Not quite.
He was still in his room, when I paid the rental fee, and started streaming the movie. I hollered that the movie was starting. Trevin hollered back that I could watch the movie and he would listen from his room. What he really was saying was that he didn’t want to give up his iPad entertainment, and he didn’t want me or some movie to interfere with his iPad entertainment.
No, no. I hollered back, I would NOT watch this movie all by myself. I wanted him to sit here with me on the couch.
Now, this hollering thing was an ongoing source of aggravation to me. I never liked it, and told my wife and son, many times, that I didn’t like it. My wife with her mobility challenge finds it easy to holler across the house to get my attention. My son has picked up on this. I couldn’t win. Hollering had become a natural way to carry on a conversation in our house.
Trevin did sit next to me on the couch, but he was holding his iPad in his lap, watching his own videos, while Ralph Wrecks The Internet was streaming to our big screen television. He didn’t set aside the iPad until it needed a battery charge.
My wife was putting away dishes in the kitchen during most of the movie, but eventually joined us on the couch.
After the movie finished, I was still sitting on the couch, trying to begin scripture reading time with my son.
Trevin went walking around the house, doing who-knows-what. When he walked past us, carrying something secret to his bathroom, his mother shrieked in protest, and began telling me what she thought she saw. Trevin was planning something. Maybe something devious. Something… alarming.
Trevin had stashed the forbidden item in his bathroom, and returned to interrupt his mother. “No! No! No! No! Don’t tell him!” He was yelling, as usual, and his voice was animated.
My wife continued talking, and mentioned shaving cream.
Trevin was yelling over her. “Don’t say anything! It wasn’t what you thought! It was really my body wash!”
I was troubled. I didn’t care if he had shaving cream, body wash, cologne, or mouthwash [he calls it wash–mouth]. I just wanted some transparency.
“What do you have?” I asked.
“It was really just body wash!”
His mother began disputing this.
“No! No! No! No! No!” Trevin yelled. “Don’t tell him!”
“Show me what you have.” I got up and headed toward his bathroom. “Let me see.”
Trevin ran into his bathroom, closed and locked the door. He protested, “No! You can’t see!”
I could actually have used a mini screwdriver to unlock that bathroom, but I instead returned to the couch. This battle could be won if I gave Trevin some time and space to eventually come clean.
Maybe.
So I started a conversation with my wife about what was going on, when Trevin came out and faced me. “Dad, I’ve got something to say. Mom doesn’t really know what I have. Come with me and I’ll show you what I have.”
Okay. So I followed him into his bathroom.
He held up a bottle of liquid soap. “It’s really just my body wash.”
This sounded fishy. I began looking around to discover what was really going on there. It seemed he didn’t want me to look in the bath tub. He had the shower curtains closed, and he began blocking me, like a linebacker defends his territory in a football game.
“Let me see.”
“No! It’s really nothing!”
He was pushing back at me with all his strength as I pushed toward the bathtub. I sidestepped him, opened the shower curtain, and looked down past the two fitness balls sitting there. There was also a can of shaving cream. Not a surprise.
So I returned to my favorite couch position, and confirmed to my wife that our son did indeed have shaving cream in his bathroom.
Now Trevin’s face is as smooth as a baby’s … behind. If my wife hears me reference a baby butt, that’s like swearing to her. She goes off the rails.
The point here is, Trevin doesn’t need to shave. We think he is trying to emulate his mother’s practice of shaving her legs. That doesn’t bother me in the least. It’s kinda cute. What bothers me is that we can’t seem to have an open, honest conversation with Trevin, without him getting defensive, argumentative, and deceptive.
That should have been the end of it. But a few minutes later Trevin came back and insisted that I inspect his bathroom to see that he didn’t have any shaving cream. Clearly, he was playing hide-and-seek.
I looked around in his bedroom, poked in some of his dresser drawers, and returned to the bathroom. I inspected his tub and shower shelf. He seemed fine with this.
“Did you hide the shaving cream?”
“It’s really not shaving cream.”
“Okay.” I was getting impatient. “What do you call it?”
I picked up the garbage can, which made him shift nervously. It seemed I was getting close. I reached down behind the toilet, with Trevin trying to push me away, and found the can of shaving cream, covered by a wash cloth.
“What is this?!”
“It’s nothing!”
“Tell me what it is!”
“It’s nothing!”
I had a meltdown. I sprayed some shaving cream into his hair, while he tried to dodge away from me. He twisted and ducked as I sprayed shaving cream on his ears, his neck and his face.
“What is this? What do you call it?!”
He tried to use the shower curtain as protection from me, as I kept spraying. He stepped on a faucet handle. He scrambled around a fitness ball. He wrestled his way around me and out of the bathroom. There was shaving cream splattered around the shower, on a fitness ball, on his towel.
I hollered at Trevin to take a shower. I also suggested that some day he would look back at this incident and laugh about it.
He returned to his bathroom, to survey the damage, and began having a meltdown, as I call it. He removed his shower curtains and thrust them at me, ranting about how I ruined them.
He ranted about how I made him stand on the faucet, so it was my fault it was broken. It was so broken, we could not turn on the hot water. He said that I ruined his bathroom. Tonnette told him to laugh, and that he could use the other bathroom.
So Trevin went to the master bath to shower, and wash off the shaving cream.
Tonnette and I were still laughing about his, while I put the shower curtains into the washing machine.
When Trevin finished his shower, he wandered between the two bathrooms with a towel wrapped around him, ranting.
He told me, loudly, that I ruined his shower curtain. I ruined his favorite fitness ball. I ruined his bath mat. I ruined his towels. He thrust the towels at me and told me to get rid of them. I ruined his pants.
“I don’t want this bathroom,” he hollered. “It’s not my style anymore.”
After Trevin had calmed down somewhat, I was on the couch, laughing to myself.
Although I now had a plumbing problem to worry about, I was light-hearted. Even during our family prayer, I was grateful for Trevin’s entertainment, and breaking up the monotony.
Before I finished the prayer, Trevin asked me, “What is monotony?”
I ignored the question, and continued the prayer, but Trevin was persistent.
“What is monatee?!”
“Listen to the prayer,” I said.
“Tell me what it is!”
His mother tried to answer, “It’s something different.”
“I was talking to dad! What is monogamy?!”
So the course of our prayer went in a strange direction. I hope God has a sense of humor.
How To Protect A Doorbell
Our WiFi doorbell has been left without the retainer screw for a few months now. It seemed easier to get charged without finding the right security bit, unscrewing and then screwing it back each time the battery needed a charge.
Trevin likes to push that doorbell button each time he arrives home from school, or from shopping. Just in case there’s some strange person inside. There’s only three in our family, so it makes no sense, when Mom & Dad just drove him home.
Maybe he just likes the sound of the chime.
We took a trip to the Oregon coast, and brought several travel bags with us. We packed fewer bags than I anticipated; even so, it’s hard for us to keep everything organized. Especially at a condo with no closets or dresser drawers.
On the morning of our third day, Trevin got into the car with his mother. I heard our doorbell chime.
Could somebody be standing on our porch?
“Is that a notification?” I asked.
Trevin replied, “I packed the doorbell.” He gestured, showing me where it was.
“You brought our doorbell?! Why would you do that?!”
Trevin replied, “But what if someone tries to steal it?”
I tried to explain that now we couldn’t see if someone came to our door in Boise.
“I’ve got something to say,” he said. “We need to protect it, in case somebody tries to take it while we’re gone.”
Planting Seeds
It was a difficult day of work for the head of the family. After getting up early, sleep deprived, and driving a truck 10 hours, it was good to be home enjoying the comfort of cool air. He was having trouble staying awake, so he wanted to get a nap.
He was reclining on the marriage bed, when his 9-year-old son came in. The boy jumped onto the bed and began cuddling. He teased the head of the family by covering his face with a blanket, and reaching under his shirt to tickle him. He was glad to see his daddy.
“Stop ticking me.”
“I’m not!” the 9-year-old son retorted.
“Yes you are.”
“I’m really not. I’m just finding a great place to put my hand.”
The head of the family grabbed the boy’s hand.
“There’s a great place to put it.”
The 9-year-old son wrestled his hand away, and resumed tickling. In a couple minutes, the 9-year-old son started watching YouTube videos on his tablet, and stopped tickling his daddy.
The head of the family tried to go to sleep, but it wasn’t happening.
The 9-year-old son suddenly asked, “Where does the people seeds come from?”
The head of the family wasn’t surprised at the question. They had spoken about people seeds before. Maybe the 9-year-old son forgot.
“Have you noticed that your nap sack contains two family jewels?”
“Yes.”
“Those family jewels make the people seeds. You will start making people seeds when you’re about 13.”
“But what do we do with the people seeds? Do they help us to grow bigger?”
“Turn off your tablet, and I’ll tell you about it.”
So the son turned off his tablet.
“Do you know where babies come from?”
“Yes. They grow in a mommy’s tummy. And when they get big like a vegetable, you dig them out of the garden. But how do they get in there?”
“Daddy put some people seeds inside your momma, and one of them grew into a baby, and that’s how you were born.”
“Do the seeds come out of your light wand?”
“Yes, they do.”
“But how do they get inside the mommy? Do you put the light wand under her knockers?”
“No. Mommies have a private area called a hoo-ha. Daddy put his light wand in Mommy’s hoo-ha, and planted the people seeds inside her.”
The 9-year-old son was silent for a moment, absorbing this strange secret. Suddenly he said, “Stop talking now. Stop talking and go back to sleep.”
He turned on his tablet and resumed watching a video.
After trying unsuccessfully to take a nap, the head of our family asked the mother and the 9-year-old son where they would like to go for dinner. Maybe they could pick up hamburgers?
The 9-year-old son replied, “I want a wah wah wah.”
“Where do we get a wah wah wah?”
“At the wah wah wu,” he replied.
The head of the family decided they would go to Wendy’s.
The Furniture Dolly
My son avoids telling me the truth, habitually, blaming things on mythical characters. And it’s usually his tell-tale smile that gets me nervous.
On a Sunday evening, we had enjoyed a dinner with the grandparents, and Trevin wanted to play outside on his own. That was fine with us. He enjoyed life’s important things: hunting for raspberries, roll-playing in grandpa’s open trailer, and watching the bees. The adults liked doing silly things: setting out blocks or tiles on a table, to make ourselves seem important.
Trevin evidently thought of something really cool, something we could hardly imagine. It involved his grandfather’s furniture dolly, which was sitting outside the patio. Without asking any adult for help or permission, he put the thing into the back of our Jeep, and concealed it with a blanket.
When I asked about the blanket, he replied, “Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing. You don’t need to look. Just drive.”
When Trevin was in school, I asked his mother about the dolly. She knew as much as I did, which was next to nothing. After a few more days, I quietly returned the dolly to Grandpa’s.
The next Sunday, it was in the back of the Jeep like as before. Trevin again cautioned me to not look in the back of the Jeep. “It’s a surprise.”
“If that’s Grandpa’s tool, I don’t want that surprise. I don’t want it at our house.”
“Why?”
“You have lots of toys to play with. What are you trying to do?”
“It’s a surprise.”
My wife suggested we let him play with it, and return it in a few days. Trevin is busy with other things, so that dolly stayed there in the Jeep for a few days. I think it got in my way of assembling our electric scooter, so I took it out.
At our house, we had a chat about taking things that don’t belong to us. Like that furniture dolly from Grandpa’s house. Trevin didn’t quite get it.
“We don’t need more clutter at our house.”
I brought Trevin with me to return the dolly, and talk to Grandpa. Tell Grandpa what he did. Trevin knew what he did, but he didn’t exactly apologize. He did put the dolly back into the garage.
If we thought this had settled anything, we were mistaken. The next Sunday evening, Trevin put that dolly back into the Jeep. Having a face-to-face discussion with him about it made hardly any difference in his attitude. He wanted to do something fun with that dolly. Like rolling it down the driveway.
Grandpa told me to let him take it home and play with it. Maybe that would get it out of his system. He was partially right. The main thing was my participation with Trevin, with me riding the dolly on the driveway, and pushing it while he rode it.
While Trevin practiced pouring pancakes in our kitchen, I tried to impart some of my wisdom. Trevin remembered doing the same thing at Grandpa’s house, and stammered, “I think Grandpa would know what to do, because he’s smarter than you.”
I have to agree with that.
Fire! Fire!
The elementary school here provides breakfast for all the students, at no charge. The nagging question parents have is whether their child is getting enough good things to eat.
No matter what food we offer him, he seems to love Minecraft more than eating. He might ask for a specific breakfast food, but then he only nibbles on it. He will leave most or all of it sitting on the table.
One fine morning I prepped some Russet potatoes for home fries. Trevin loves home fries, almost as much as Minecraft, to the point he will eat home fries for breakfast at home with his parents. Usually.
I had the home fries in a cast iron skillet, on the stovetop. My wife took control of the cooking, by parking her wheelchair in front of the stove, and stirring the food. It seemed like a good time to get my son dressed.
I herded Trevin into his bedroom and began the laborious task of taking off his pajamas and picking clothes to wear. After a couple minutes, he exclaimed, “Something’s burning!”
I could smell it as well, my home fries, so I rushed to the kitchen, leaving Trevin in his underpants.
I found the skillet unattended, and smoke ascending. Tonnette had left it to go to the bathroom. It wasn’t terribly burned, like legendary microwave popcorn, or toast, but it was enough to set off the smoke alarm.
My wife and I hollered choice remarks back and forth, while I turned off the stove, opened a window, turned on a fan, and stirred the food.
I chided Tonnette for leaving the food unattended on a hot stove. “If you had to leave, you should’ve turned off the heat first.” Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I should’ve turned off the heat, before I left.
If we thought this was harmless banter, we had another thing coming.
Trevin was screaming “Fire! Fire!” And he commenced opening ALL the windows and the main door. Okay, it was probably a good idea to let some fresh air inside, but the screaming was really annoying. We yelled at him to stop screaming. Two parents yelling at a boy to stop screaming — see how that works?
Trevin changed from screaming to yelling, but he didn’t stop yelling right away. “Turn off the stove!” he yelled. I assured him the stove was turned off. It was really cold outside, so Tonnette yelled at him to close the door. “But we need some fresh air!” he yelled.
The fresh air thing was priority in his mind. When Tonnette was cooking a few days later, she burned some food. This triggered the Trevin alarm again. He opened windows and the door, and screamed “Turn off the stove!” When Tonnette complained about the cold air, he ran outside and waited on the street to be sure the house wouldn’t burn down.
Another day, another scared boy. When I turned the heat on to cook scrambled eggs, Trevin immediately opened two windows, just in case… Now that skillet wasn’t even warm yet, and Trevin was acting like his dad doesn’t know how to safely cook anything.
Reasoning was not effective. He resorted to running outside to the street, and waiting in the cold, just in case I started a fire. When the food was ready, I yelled at Trevin to get in the house and eat. He retorted that I would have to turn the stove off first.
So how do I convince a boy the stove is off, when he thinks it’s a trick? I tried to wrestle him into the kitchen to see the stove for himself, but he resisted, and ran outside. The boy didn’t trust me.
Kiddie Sliders
We like going to Del Taco after Trevin finishes his gymnastics class.
He wanted to go into the play area, so after we ordered some food, we went into the play area. Then comes an older woman with two teenagers in tow… into the play area.
I looked straight at the older woman and said, “I think you’re a little old to be climbing up there.”
It was supposed to be a joke. But the older woman replied,
“Oh, you haven’t seen them come down the slide on a tray.”
How’s that? I thought. Maybe she’s shifting the focus of my joke by making her own joke. But … I didn’t get it.
I went out to pick up my food order, on a red serving tray. When I brought my food into the play room/area, I beheld those two teenagers, taking turns sliding down (the kiddie slide) on a red serving tray. It helps them go faster, I guess.
Trevin was standing by the slide, taking in this strange new sport.
The older woman told her teens it was time to go, and they left, leaving their red serving tray on top of the trash bin, on the way out.
Trevin and I began eating our tacos, and I had a troubling thought… what if Trevin tries that?
I said, “Trevin, don’t you do that. Don’t slide down on a tray.”
“Why?” he asked.
I explained that it wouldn’t be nice. Serving trays aren’t made for that.
He munched thoughtfully on his taco, and informed me:
“When I get older, I will definitely do that.”
Thanks For Watching
While having our evening scripture reading, my wife took a video of Trevin struggling through some difficult words. He noticed the camera phone and took the opportunity to ham it up in a closing statement borrowed from Minecraft videos:
“Thanks for watching. Bye-bye! Don’t forget to subscribe.”
We also coached Trevin in rehearsing a brief talk his mother had written for him about baptism. He was expected to read it in Primary/Sunday School at our church.
On Sunday morning, I stood by Trevin at the pulpit as he read his talk, in case he needed coaching. He did a good job, and to my astonishment, he concluded by saying, “Thanks for watching! Bye-bye!”
I reminded him to close by saying In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
Trevin did so, and repeated, “Thanks for watching! Bye-bye!”
Somebody clapped.
The Cute Neighbor
I encouraged Trevin to say “Hi” to a cute girl standing in front of a house on our street. She seemed lonely, and afraid to talk. I wasn’t too sure she actually lived there, or if we would ever see her again.
We did see her again, and learned she had a kick scooter. Trevin had a kick scooter. They became friends, probably better friends than I ever remember having when I was around their age.
I encouraged them to stay close to home by making lemonade for them as they played in our yard. Playing in the girl’s yard was infinitely more complicated for Trevin. It wasn’t just the fear of new things; it was because of Lenard.
The girl described Lenard as a “bad dog”. Lenard himself proved it by nipping at my heels as I walked down the street, as if he wanted a taste of my blood. He proved it by chasing my frightened son through our yard, behind our shed, and who knows where else. I lost sight of my son as he ran for his life, behind our shed.
Lenard was soon after captured and brought back to his own house, and Trevin was not physically harmed. But Trevin now had a fear to deal with.
After riding his kick scooter one day, Trevin decided to make some muddy puddles in our yard. He was emulating one of his favorite cartoon characters. Maybe he was trying to impress his friend. Who knows? Trevin’s goal was to jump into the mud, splashing muddy water all around. Mud got onto the cute girl’s shirt. She was alarmed. She needed that shirt, and she needed it clean.
To make a long story short, the girl changed into a clean shirt at her house and brought the muddy shirt for me to wash.
It seemed to me this was probably enough drama for the girl; maybe she had enough of Trevin. Not so. She encouraged Trevin to go play in her yard.
I happened to be working in our front yard, pulling a few weeds, when Trevin came running home. He stood near me, but facing the outside wall of his room, murmuring “I don’t like that dog.”
This seemed strange to me. When I asked what was going on, Trevin again murmured “I don’t like that dog.” Then I saw his cute little friend standing in front of her house, crying. I didn’t like the looks of this, so I hurried over to the girl to ask what happened.
She was in tears as she replied, “Trevin ran away!”
I noticed my son had left his scooter on the street nearby. I breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Oh he’s just afraid of the dog.”
She continued, “But the dog is in the house.”
“It’ll be okay… I’ll talk to him.”
I brought my son’s scooter back to our house and found Trevin. We had a little chat, in which I said he should go talk to his friend, and bring her clean shirt back to her.
“You made her cry,” I said. “Just go talk to her.”
“Will you come with me?”
Together we walked back to his friend’s house, and found her sitting at some kind of table, drawing. I stood in the driveway, and sent Trevin with the girl’s shirt, warning him not to drop it.
This girl took the shirt, then took Trevin’s hand and said, “Don’t worry Trevin, I will protect you.”
She looked at me and said, “You can go now.”
She just about melted my heart. I don’t know what Trevin was thinking.
When I recounted this drama to my wife, she decided we needed a table for the kids to use in our yard. Then we needed some painting supplies. And then a splash pad. Basically, whatever it takes to keep Trevin out of the mud.
stuart james beall 
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