The floor of my sons room day in and day out is a mix of papers, books, fidget spinners, toys and clothing. To put it bluntly, it's a complete and total mess.
My wife and I have taken away privileges. We’ve made threats. But ultimately, he is ten, testing boundaries, and it has come down to his room being such a mess that I can hardly see the floor.
It has gotten to the point where my wife has even given him a deadline. If he doesn't clean up his room by the end of the school year, she was going to come in with garbage bags and throw everything away.
“I did it with your sisters room,” she said. “I’ll do it with yours, too”
In fact, she had done it in his sister's room. This was a couple years ago. She took away all of her toys. It was dramatic. There were tears. But ever since, she has done a pretty good job of keeping her room clean.
When my wife told him this, she had a stone cold mom look in her eyes. But it didn’t phase my son. Nothing really does at this point. It is like living with this slug of a boy, who moves slowly, refuses to do anything besides play video games, and smells like mustard mixed with candy. He is officially a preteen, and it is showing.
He fights doing his homework, and often leaves messes in the kitchen and living room. He doesn't like combing his hair, and when he talks, it is in this strange, high pitched, irritating voice — his attempt to emulate some YouTuber he is really into.
Everything about him takes serious effort. I have to speak to him in my stern dad voice, more often than I'd have liked to. At this stage in life, at this moment, I find my son incredibly irritating.
I mean, I love him. I honestly do. I want him to grow up to be something truly special. At the same time, he’s easily the worst roommate I’ve ever had. Only I can’t kick him out. I can’t go to the landlord and request an intervention. I’m his father, and I am stuck living with this kid who refuses to clean up after himself and rolls his eyes over everything from being asked to sweep the floor to taking a bath.
And here’s the worst part, I think the reason I find him so irritating to live with is because he's so much like me. He looks a lot like me. We have the same slender hands and block-like feet. We have the same short legs and brown hair. We have the same chirping laugh.
When I was his age, I was almost exactly like him. I refused to do anything without being pushed. My goal in life was to sit on the sofa, watch TV, and eat Captain Crunch. I couldn’t understand why everyone was telling me to do things all the time. I rolled my eyes a lot. I felt picked on and put out most of the day. My room was a mess.
It’s a hard reality to see your former self in your child. To think back to how hard you worked to iron all that frustrating, preteen stuff out, only to realize you are going to have to do it all again with your own child.
But what is even more complex then all that is that I want him to be better than me. I want him to be cleaner. I want him to be harder working, perhaps make more money, become better educated. However, I worry that he won't accomplish that goal because I don't know how to fix myself, let alone him.
Because, when it comes down to it, I am still guilty of some of the annoying stuff he does. I’m still not all that good at cleaning my room. I cut my hair short so I don’t have to comb it. I long to sit on the sofa and watch TV while eating Captain Crunch. That right there is my idea of a vacation.
I’m regularly left with this question as a father: How do I make my son better than me, when I don’t even know how to better myself?
And so one afternoon I decided to tackle the situation head on. I went into my son's room and found him sitting cross-legged on his bed wearing a red school polo and brown shorts. Open on his bed was a math book. He was grudgingly doing his homework. I sat next to him and said, “When are you going to clean this room?”
He shrugged. I’d seen that shrug so many times. Usually I met it with force, but this time, I tried something different.
“When I was your age, my room looked a lot like this,” I said.
He looked up at me. He didn’t say anything, but he seemed to be showing more interest than usual, so I assumed he was paying attention.
“It took me some time to figure out that keeping my room clean was easier than having my mother throw all my stuff away.”
“Grandma threw away all your stuff?” he said.
“Oh, yeah.” I said. “A couple times. It sucked bad. I’d rather you not go through that, but I suppose that’s up to you. I think that’s the really hard part about being a dad. I’ve made a lot of the same mistakes, and I had to learn some lessons the hard way. When you get tired of doing that, let me know. I’ll give you some advice.”
He shrugged again. And somehow I got the feeling that we were going to have that same conversation a few more times before he started asking me for help. Maybe he never would. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I love that kid, and the best I can do is keep trying, giving him advice, believing in him, motivating him, and hope that he turns into something amazing. Because the reality is, I won’t give up on him. And if he really is that much like me, chances are, he will grow out of a lot of this.
I was almost out in the hallway that afternoon when he asked me, “Do you really think mom’s going to throw away all my stuff?”
“Yes,” I said. “I have no doubt.”
He let out a long breath. Then he said, “I’ll clean it tomorrow.”
I smiled, not sure if he actually would, but optimistic. “See that you do. And if you need help, let me know.”
He smiled at me, a big grin that showed me he was happy to have the help. Then he went back to his homework.
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