Yes I Can

Things don't always come easily.  Sometimes life is a challenge that seems almost insurmountable.  Whether it actually is or if it is just our own perception doesn't seem to matter.  The fact that we think it is too hard for too long may cause some of us to just want to give up.  Truth be told, I think there is not a person in the world who has found things that seem too hard at some point or another who hasn't felt like throwing in the towel.

My younger son just turned four yesterday.  He is a bundle of energy that looks like a young stocky sergeant in the army.  He could even be the sergeant in Gomer Pyle, USMC, in his younger, nicer days, with blonde hair and a serviceman cut.  He ramrods his way in and through things, but there is one area he does not seem to be able to master.

He absolutely refuses to go potty.  He wears pull-ups and insists he can't go potty chair.  What's worse is that there are days,like Monday, when he won't even change his training pants without assistance.  He claims that he can't.

"Benjamin," I say, "go get a clean pull up and take that one off.

"I can't."

"Yes you can, just go get one."

"But I can't.  It's too hard," he says as he refuses to budge.

"Benjamin, you are almost four years old now.  Take off that pull up."

"But it's too hard.  I can't," he says as he starts to whine and fuss.

Some days I just sit there until he goes in the bathroom and takes it off himself and then I help him get cleaned up.  Other days, when I don't have the time because we are in a rush to go somewhere, I cave in and help him, realizing that sometimes he just wants to stay the little boy.  But there is always this back and forth with the words, "I can't.  It's too hard," mixed in there any number of times.

Mind you, this isn't after he has tried endlessly to take off these pants with an elaborate belt.  No, it is a simple pair of elastic bands that he just steps out of any time he feels like it when he wants to go commando, but suddenly can't take off when he's soiled himself.  He is too busy, he wants attention, he's tired, he's hungry, whatever the reason, he gets it into his thick skull that he can't do it and nothing can make him budge.

Sometimes I'd like to hammer it and just go...DO IT ALREADY!  But that's not exactly the nice, motherly way to go.  I will, however, stand my ground when I don't have pressing matters, and wait for him to decide that he may as well take them off because he can't play any more until he does.  Then I will step in and help him clean himself.  But this is a routine we go through every day.  "Do this..."  "I can't."

When he finally gives in and takes them off, he'll smile and giggle.  He'll say, "Oh.  I can do it!"  And I will praise him endlessly, showering him with words of confidence in his ability, happy that he has obeyed.  I tell him how proud I am that he is such a big boy to be able to change his own pull up.  I tell him how easy it was and he'll agree.  "Yes, it was easy.  I'm a big boy.  I can take off my own pull up."

It's a simple task that he truly can do so very easily and in no time at all and yet he just bores in his heels and is determined that he can't do it.  How much time is wasted each day because he has it set in his mind that he can't do something?  How much fun does he miss out on because he simply refuses to try?

How often do we give up, not when we've truly tried something, but when we just look at the situation and think we can't do it?  How often do we just stare at life and say, "I can't do this," and sit down and just stop everything?  The we decide to just push through that overwhelming sense of inferiority and accomplish, very easily, that which we felt was impossible. 

Life is full of enough difficult situations as it is.  Sometimes the only way to overcome a situation is to just grit our teeth and go for the gusto, giving it all we've got.  We ignore the protests, even those within our very selves, that come from just looking at a situation and thinking it's unapproachable.  We'll never achieve anything if we're too hard to try.

Besides, I've often found that the most rewarding feeling comes after I come up against a mountain that seems immovable and I climb over it.  Better yet, I pick it up and toss it over to the side.  I would never be able to see that if I dwell on what seems possible.  The only way I get that satisfaction is when I stare the problem in the face and say, "regardless of how it looks, I'm going to barrel my way past this because I CAN."  Best of all, however, I like it when I look at this Mount Everest standing in front of me, and say, "You know, I don't care how big you are.  You are in my way and I don't like you there.  Get out of my way.  Move.  Now."