I’m not sure if I’m the only one (I’m not, I never am. Let’s just stop this illusion that I’m special) but I’ve been having a tough time handling Sebastian’s recent playful violence. He attacks me with vicious jabs and crosses whenever we’re in close range and no body part is safe from his assault. Yes, he jabs me in the balls all the time. I am no longer amused. Therein may lie the problem. At first, it was kinda funny, it made me giggle. Boyz will be boys. That did sent the wrong message, however, since now he’s in full on attack mode all the time. He’s looking at me with this expectation of being saluted with sore, oppressed, ball-busted giggles.

It might be an age thing. Six and change. The oedipal rebellion might have reached its infancy. All I know is that I don’t have fond memories of being punched and beaten. It tickles memories that I do not enjoy accessing. It activates a level of disdain and irritation that I am not familiar with when it comes to Sebastian. He’s the good in my life, the innocent and pure and beautiful. And now even that thing has turned on me.

I know that this isn’t the case but it is becoming a problem. I have a very limited arsenal of reactions available dealing with this problem: I bark at him and/or storm off. I sometimes sit him down after the initial  fight or flight reaction when my breathing has returned to normal, and my anger has dissipated. I explain to him how his punching makes me feel and that it’s not funny and that I don’t like it. The sit downs work. For three to five minutes on average.

The next step is to discipline him, i.e. take away privileges. But I don’t want to be the asshole who takes away TV time, book reading time, story telling time, song singing time, snack time, fun time. I’m too much of a people pleaser for that. Are there any other options though? I guess I have to suck it up and be a parent and play the role of fun-spoiler every now and then if I want my balls to continue working. Because, I’m not proud of saying this, one day I might punch him back. I know I won’t do that but I’ve been feeling a reflex waking up deep within me whenever this happens. I don’t like it. It’s the one thing I swore I’d never do to my kid. I know what it does to a child: the confusion, the sudden absence of security, and the humiliation.  I don’t want Sebastian to ever have to experience any of them. And I don’t ever want to experience the shame I know I’d feel if I ever hit him. It would kill me. I guess being the asshole who takes shit away from him is the better option. Unless I learn to enjoy getting my balls bruised and pissing blood.

Happened on Thursday:

“I love you, dad!”

We just turned onto Sunset headed East at 8:30AM.

“I love you too.” I wonder why he said it. He rarely ever says it unprompted any more.  “What made you say it that? Don’t get me wrong, I love hearing it…But why?”

“Because you got me to be on TV!”

I did. Well, I responded to a text and his dream of being on TV came true at last. I was merely a medium but I’ll take the I love you.

We spend six or seven hours at Warner Brothers Studios on Thursday. I haven’t been back there since I worked in TV commercials. This time I was a plus one, a parent of the talent, a body that needed to be fed. Sebastian was cast as one of six kids to appear in a skit for the Conan O’Brien show. We were served lunch, the children did their school work, and Sebastian got to sit in Conan’s chair (He talked the stage manager into letting him see the set — he’s so much better at asking for what he wants than I will ever be.)

And at long last, kids and parents were bussed to a house where the kids shot a quick five second scene (two takes) and that was that, Sebastian had his TV cherry popped. The skit he’ll be in (barely, I might add, as he was obstructed by a very large man for most of the shot) will air tonight, 2/08/16 on the Conan show.

Sebastian did attack my balls in the green room once. I had to grab his wrists and unleash my stern, parental voice on him. But all in all I was happy to see him so excited about the experience. And that, my friends, makes up for all the ball-busting and ass-kicking that I’m getting these days.

—Bad Papa West