Bang bang. You wish you were invisible, that you could disappear from view to avoid the scrutiny of parents looking on as your child pokes, pinches or points an imaginary finger pistol at his playmates.

I’ve recently heard from two mamas who are struggling with the shame and frustration they feel as their little ones explore and express their power in physical and verbal ways.  When children explore their physical power through gun play or the like, parents often feel powerless and embarrassed.  I hope my sharing my own experience will provide some insight.  Here is a re-posting of a blog I wrote on this very subject:

January 15, 2010

On the day I handed down my beloved baby doll Tina to my toddler son, she died twice…first in a hit-and-run with his dump truck and later by drowning. Recalling the time my younger brother had scalped that very same doll, her demise at the hands of my tiny son elicited a lecture so shaming I’ve (thankfully) erased it from memory.

My precious little one was all boy, though he had never seen television or movies or violent images in books. Elliott was raised in a carefully prepared environment rich with sensory activities to engage his curiosity. His shelves were filled with puzzles and blocks and art supplies, not guns and swords and pirate ships. We avoided gender stereotypes, rarely even dressing him in blue.

So where did this fascination with violence come from?

I don’t recall the first time I uttered the enlightened and oh-so-above-it-all mantra, “We have a peaceful home. We don’t even pretend to play with weapons here. Everybody has the right to be safe.”  But I do remember my son  retreating from me time and time again to avoid hearing those words, while attempting to hide a carrot-stick sword or paint brush pistol from my view.

Even with years of education and training,  I felt hopeless and ill-equipped to parent my own child.

Some experts suggest that by forbidding imaginary gun play and other such activities, parents increase children’s interest by driving it underground and thus create a situation where children feel they cannot safely express their feelings and impulses. While others advise parents to prohibit toy weapons altogether, I was unable to find any study linking pretend gun play with an increased incidence of violent behavior in adulthood.

Michael Thompson, Ph.D. (author of Raising Cain) has this to say: “What we know is that boys in all cultures around the world wrestle more, mock fight more, and are drawn to themes of power and domination, but that’s not the same as hurting someone, so it’s not necessarily a cause for worry.”

At some point I had an epiphany. What if Elliott’s intrigue with weapons indicated a natural impulse to gain control of his circumstances, and nothing more?  And what if my own feelings of guilt and shame about his interest in these things could be far more damaging than any run-in with a rubber sword?

I was merely passing on my values, but what if my lecturing and nagging had damaged his self-esteem?

My son’s interest in guns was not a passing fancy; he is naturally drawn to mechanics and strategy, and to power. What has changed is my response.  When I realized the toll it was taking on our relationship, I vowed to stop shaming Elliott. And to talk less and listen more. By stepping down from my soapbox, I now know my son better and can respect his varied interests – which include piano and literature, crocheting and cats.

Last summer  Elliott invited me target shooting.  Even though it was only Airsoft, I said “no thanks,” in a tone that spoke volumes. He quickly countered, “Mom, guns are just tools. You don’t have to be afraid of them. Shooting at targets isn’t hurting anyone. It’s fun.”  I allowed him to be my teacher that day.  He demonstrated proper handling and gun safety with total acuity and, no doubt anticipating another eco-lecture from me, vehemently assured me that the pellets would biodegrade “within a reasonable time frame.”

Holding a gun felt awkward until my first “hit,” which was accompanied by an unexpected surge of adrenalin.  I glanced at Elliott who, grinning more broadly than ever, proudly exclaimed, “Mom, don’t you think it feels kind of good when you hit the target?”  I had to be honest. Hitting the target did feel good.

What transpired on the way home was a delicious helping of parental bliss. He uttered the words “Thank you for taking an interest in this, Mom. I know it was a stretch for you.”… and meant it. In that precious moment, ‘all boy’ didn’t seem ‘all bad.’

Until next time,

~Delila