Protocol Is Key

One morning last week, Michael and I pulled up in front of Ms. K’s as is our standard weekday morning appointment.

I got him out of the car, set him on the ground and handed him his coat. My hands were full of his lunch box and other stuff, so I asked him to put it on himself. He’s good with that these days anyway, as he’s trying to up his status as “Big Boy,” tackling as many new challenges by himself as he can.

“I can’t get this,” he said, struggling with one of the arms.

“It’s okay, sport. We’re almost inside,” I assure him. We’re only a few feet from the door now.

“No! I have to get my arm in!” he says, more frantic and still struggling to unravel the right sleeve of his coat.

“Michael, we’re here. There’s no need to do that now.”

“ERRRRRGH!” he shouts, wrestling to reach behind himself.

Impatient, I open up the door, turn and pick him up, and then place him inside.

He instantly crumples on the carpet, defeated.

Ms J (Ms K’s mother) is there to greet us. She’s quite familiar with Michael and his antics, but this is a new one. She studies him as he remains motionless on the floor, like a dead beetle.

“What’s he-” she starts.

“It’s okay, I think I know,” I tell her.

I lift him up and set him on his feet, and take his coat off completely.

I fix the sleeve so it’s right-side out, and then hand hit coat back to him.

“Here, put this on.”

He obligingly does so, quickly and efficiently.

When he finishes, he looks up at me. I smile.

“Okay, now go take your coat and shoes off and put them in your cubby,” I say.

He does just that, without a moment’s hesitation, sunny disposition restored.

Sometimes, it’s not about the end result so much as it is about doing things in the right order.