The Boy comes out of his room grumpy with angry eyes flaring under furrowed brow.
"What?" He asks defensively.
"I want to help."
"Oh yeah? So help."
"I don’t know what’s wrong…"
"But you want to help. What’s your idea to help."
I want to yell that he’s not making any sense…but really he’s just not making MY kind of sense. So I answer the question he’s asking rather than the question I WISH he would ask.
I close my eyes, put my head down and open my eyes again, reconnecting with my tenderness before I speak.
"My idea is that you tell me what’s bothering you. Then I think (I put my fingers to my temples with my eyes closed, like Sherlock searching his mind palace) of a solution. Then I tenderly share that solution with you, (I use my hands to gently give him the idea from my heart), and then you take it in (I take a deep breath) and let go of whatever is bothering you. Then you would feel better. Would you like to do my idea?"
He frowns, “No.”
"Okay," I smile, "thanks for listening and watching anyway. I’m here for ya."