High-Stakes Standoff

The stakes were surely
Not as high as they seemed,
But they seemed high
In their own way.

Because who wants their child
To grow up thinking
He can beat his dad
In a battle of wills
With no tools at his disposal
But fake distress
And the digging in
Of little heels?

But this morning,
The toothbrushing routine
Didn’t hold the usual appeal.
Boy was ready to eat NOW.

He pushed the brush away,
Again and again.
His little bird-like “no,”

Then a whine,
Then a wail,
Then the tears.

I will not give in,
I thought.

I closed the door.
Sat down on the floor.
Set the toothbrush on the tub
For him to grab when he was
Good and ready.

But he wasn’t
And wasn’t
And wasn’t
And wasn’t
And wasn’t.

“Brush, brush, brush,”
I said.
And said
And said
And said.

And he didn’t
And didn’t
And didn’t
And didn’t.

And then,
At last,
Someone had to give.
It was me.

Maybe I’ll do better
When we standoff
With words.

Maybe that will be worse.

(He "brushed" after breakfast).