That's my girl

By Stephanie Abbajay

I don’t remember taking much joy from annoying my three siblings when I was a child. In fact, I think I just wanted to get away from them. My sister was in her own world reading, my middle brother was always in a bad mood and my oldest brother always had some scheme that would invariably get everyone in trouble but him. He was able to mysteriously disappear when Dad came home to find us icing the driveway or breaking into his private stash of See’s candies. We didn’t try to annoy each other so much as avoid each other.

Not so with my nine-year-old son, who takes an inordinate amount of pleasure in torturing and annoying his little sister. It’s not real physical torture, mind you. Though the recipient (five-year-old Willa) may classify it as such: the “I’m not touching you” routine, the occasional Indian burn, knuckle noogie, flick on the head, single hair pull or Dutch oven (which, actually, if you’ve ever had one, you might argue is so offensive a transgression that it should be banned under the Geneva Conventions).

Oskar employs the above pokes and prods judiciously, but his favorite form of assault is verbal, and he has a repertoire that can make Willa go out of her mind. Usually, he sings a song in which she is stinky, stupid or fat, or all three if he is feeling especially clever. Then there is the mocking and the mimicking, in which he simply repeats everything she says in a high-pitched whine.

This makes Willa lose all control, which is, of course, exactly what he wants. The other day he was making her absolutely insane with a version of his smelly song. Willa was on the floor screaming and shrieking in agony and frustration. As I was about to admonish him, he turned to me with the most beautiful smile and said, “Ahhhh. It’s music to my ears!” He was generally thrilled with his accomplishment. He was fulfilled. Later, I asked him why he enjoyed making her scream and he became reflective. After taking a moment to collect his thoughts he said, “Mom, it’s hard to explain. I just love making her scream. It makes me happy. It’s my life’s work.”

I’m not sure this is normal. I cannot get Oskar to stop torturing his sister, or her friends for that matter, whom he considers adjuncts of Willa, and therefore fair game. When disciplined, he sits patiently in time out a contented man, probably reviewing his approach and thinking of ways to refine it. Lose of points or privileges? He doesn’t care. He has ruined her day! Success!

So, I changed tactics. Instead of trying to get Oskar to stop torturing his sister, I have been working on Willa. I explain to her patiently that all he wants in life is to hear her shriek and make her crazy. The best way to get him to stop is not to take the bait. Steal his thunder by acting the opposite of what he wants. Just ignore him, or tell him he is silly, or tell him calmly to go away.

I coach her on this every time Oskar annoys her. I didn’t think it was working until a few weeks ago when we were walking into Sinclair’s and Oskar was teasing Willa. “Ha ha,” he said in a mocking tone. “Today’s my birthday! I’m older than you!” Willa didn’t even break stride or look at him. She simply said, cool as a cucumber, “That’s OK. That just means you’ll die before me.”

Zing!! I was stunned. So was Oskar, who, for the first time in his short but vibrant life, was speechless. Yes, while statistically relevant, it was nevertheless a mean thing to say. But boy did it shut her big brother up. That’s my girl.

February 11, 2009