Inviting the demons in for tea

As my son and I approached the enclosure at the dog park yesterday, we were excited to see another Samoyed eagerly waiting at the fence. Her owner seemed excited too — Samoyeds seem to know that they are rare breed and thrive playing with each other. We let Echo (our dog) loose and the two dogs sniffed butts (this is hello in doggie talk), and wagged tails. Echo tried to initiate some wrestle time by sideling up next to their dog (to protect the innocent, the other dog will here-to-for be referred to as “Princess Buttercup”, which is sadly not so far from this poor pup’s real name). Echo started growling and Princess Buttercup, trying to sense her place in the pecking order, wagged her tail and let Echo take the Alpha role. Buttercup displayed no signs of distress, only confident body language and an eagerness to play. If you don’t have a dog, and haven’t spent hours upon hours at a dog park — let me tell you, this growling is completely normal.

Buttercup’s owner leapt to the dogs, jumping frantically between them and trying to separate them. “Don’t let your dog hurt my dog!” “Get your DOG AWAY FROM MY DOG!!!!” she shrieked while chasing them around, dangerously sticking her hands in between them. Confused, I leashed Echo while explaining that she is not and has never been aggressive, and that she’s just initiating play. Princess Buttercup looked at her owner as if to say, “what’s wrong with you?” wagging her tail and wondering why she was being hauled away. Echo, sitting unusually calm at my feet looked up and cocked her head in confusion. Her owner was shaking and hysterical, and yelled “Your dog obviously HATES my dog. F*** this!!! We’re leaving. I’ve never seen anything like this. F***!!!!” and huffed and puffed her way to the parking lot, glaring back at us. My son and I stood staring at each other, jaws dropped.

I was shaken by her response. She seemed so insane, so unstable, so unreasonable. My son was shaken too! I found it easy to offer him the explanation, “Some people are just a little unbalanced and high-strung”, but as the adrenaline moved out of my body, I replayed the event and tried to pay attention to the many sensations and experiences moving through me. I noticed something odd. I felt a familiar wave of . . .compassion.  I couldn’t help but notice that this woman reminded me of someone else. She reminded me of myself.

Sure, I don’t go around freaking out in front of strangers and screaming profanities in front of their children — but her outward display at the dog park was a direct mirror of exactly what I’d been experiencing internally in my life recently. Much like Buttercup’s owner, I am finding myself in the midst of the parenting equivalent of the doggie park with no experience, fumbling around and jumping in the middle of things I know very little about. I see myself unskillfully and frantically trying to catch, leash, contain the problem and leave — as if I can retreat to a safe world of seclusion and let the wild animals have their play time at the park without us. I can hear my own “F*** this” rise up in a flight instinct to just pack it all up and leave.

As I peek into my 16-year old son’s world, I’ve been humbled to learn that his daily reality is far from what I thought it was. I’ve been realizing that I’m in over my head and I see very clearly some major parenting mistakes I’ve made. I question which direction to go and wonder where the line between safety and overprotectiveness meet. I wonder if I’m communicating with him clearly and I know that I’m missing a lot of what he’s trying to tell me. It is clear to me that I am not in Kansas anymore, and by Kansas I mean 1988. I no longer have the soothing luxury of my ignorance — assuming that everything I’ve taught him before has clicked into place, that I understand his experience, and that I know that his world is safe, that his teenage park is — is as they say – all good. The past few weeks have proven otherwise.

I can live in a simple black and white world, contain my child and leave the teenage park while spewing obscenities and judging others – or I can do as Tibetan Buddhists say and, “Invite the demons in for tea.” Fortunately for me, I seem to have an old Buddhist monk living inside of me who encourages me to sit with my fear, my ignorance, my doubt and watch them play out. It is uncomfortable — this being keenly aware of negative emotions, but the more I sit with the discomfort, the more I sense a dissipation of the intensity of my experience. I see that reality is not necessarily what meets my eye, or what moves through me as an impermanent reactionary experience.

As I embrace my inner Tibetan Buddhist, I can see the demon tea party now — a beautiful rose laden table and a guest list from hell. Fear pulls up a chair to the table – her terrifying, twisted and wrinkled face framed by a pill box hat and bony arms sticking out of her badly fitted brocade dress — a hand-me-down from Queen Elizabeth herself. She seems comical now — her snaggle tooth exposed as she raises the corner of her black lipped mouth in a wry and wise little smile. Next to her sits the gouged and charred faces of her constant companions, Anxiety, Doubt, and Blame — who are lounging back in their chairs, pinkies lifted as they daintily sip from their teacups and taste their crumpets. They sit, corsages askew, red and yellow eyes sparkling — nodding along as they share war stories from their own parenting days gone by. And, at the head of the table sits Princess Buttercup’s crazy-ass owner in her bejeweled jeans, fake tan and grossly blond hair – with a big kind and knowing smile on her face, as if to whisper to me “don’t worry, this parenting thing is all just a special episode of punk’d”. I drop into the chair next to her, dripping in my great-aunt’s costume jewelry, and tottering in my mother’s high heel shoes that are way too big for me. I eye the chocolate biscuits. Doubt — the wittiest of them all, tells a joke and the table bursts out laughing. (Doubt has always been my favorite demon.)

Maybe everything is going to be OK after all. Maybe the world is still a friendly place. Maybe all I need is a bit more education and experience. I feel better knowing that I don’t know. Clearly, my demon friends — ugly as they may seem at first glance — really do have my back. So thank you, wise owner of Princess Buttercup, for inviting me to the party.

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