We have recently instituted a firmer policy against hitting. He still sometimes hits us when he’s angry, and he’s getting big and strong enough that it really hurts. A hit now gets Vickypuppy put in the “pound” overnight. I don’t like it much, frankly — we’re taking away the thing that helps him calm down! — but other approaches to this haven’t worked. He never hits anyone but us, so he can stop himself from doing it if he thinks he has to, but somehow hitting us has been worth it up to this point.
I’m not sure whether the removal of Puppy tips the balance or not. Today is the third time she’s been impounded so far; we didn’t measure the frequency of hitting previously, so I can’t compare. But it has led to some new kinds of conversations.
“Mom,” he said today, after Miss V had been sent to the pound, “I’m a mean person.”
“No you’re not, sweetie,” I said. “You hit me, and that was the wrong choice. But you will choose better next time.”
“But I was mad and I wanted to be mean!”
“Everybody feels mad and mean sometimes. But we can choose what to do about it. And feeling mean doesn’t make you a mean person.”
He considered a bit. “Even Darth Vader still had some good in him!”
“That’s right!” I said, all excited. “Nobody’s all good, or all bad. We all have some of both, and we have to choose, every single day, what we’re going to be and do!”
He considered some more. “And the Ewoks were really glad when the Death Star blew up!”
And then it was all about Star Wars, and the moment was gone. But I really, really hope he understood.
