Empathy

Cornell is a typical seven year old boy. He loves all things black, skulls and skateboarding. He is also a sweet, tender boy who loves his mommy. He frequently accuses me of skimping on snuggles at bedtime. Shame on me for thinking laundry when I should be thinking of savoring those fleeting moments.

However tender he is, empathy is not one of his most pronounced attributes. Perhaps the bar has been set too high. His older sister, Taylor, saddens at the thought of anyone's pain, suffering or discomfort. Merely the mention of her long lost cat can bring her to tears.

For years I have tried to muster some sort of empathy from Cornell. I have tried long, soft conversations about other peoples' feelings, turning the tables on the situation with him, etc. Nothing. I keep trying to convince myself that lack of empathy is a boy thing, not a serial killer thing.

Well, hell hath frozen over! While on vacation last week on the beautiful Chesapeake Bay, Cornell hunted an elusive, very large, blue crab for days. He checked the crab pot on the dock every hour on the hour. It was the first thing he did in the morning and the last task of the day. Finally, on Saturday night, right after a low country boil, he hit paydirt. Now, I have seen and picked alot of blue crabs in my day, but this one was huge!

The water was boiling, the crab was ceremoniously carried up in a bucket, pinching the air on his way to fulfilling his destiny. The lid was lifted and Parker burst into tears, giant, body racking tears. His eyes darted from the crab to the pot. He started screaming for Hubby to stop! He then ran over to hide behind the outdoor shower. He was genuinely freaking out, totally uncharacteristic of Cornell.

We immediately assured him that we could throw him back. He then waffled, and said no, he wanted to eat him. Then, immediately changed his mind back to throwing him back. After 10 minutes he had gathered himself enough to return the crab to the bay. Except that when peering over the rim of the bucket, he realized that the crab had died. What rotten luck, for Cornell and the crab. He resumed crying, a sad, guilt ridden crying. I hugged him and told him that there was nothing left to do but give him a burial at sea, or bay to be more precise.

As kind words were spoken and Hubby held the crab in the water, Cornell cried and continued to be racked with grief. Then, a vacation miracle happened. The crab began to blow bubbles, tried to pinch everyone and swam away!

Cornell returned to the house emotionally exhausted. He silently passed everyone on the screened porch to climb up on my bed and put his head down. I am now wondering what pod person has taken over my child. There was pie on the screened porch!

I climbed up next to him and told him how proud I was of him. He gazed off at the far wall and told me "mom, it was like there were voices in my head. One was telling me to eat it and one was telling me to throw it back". I assured him that I was impressed that he listened to his heart and made the decision that he did.

He added, "I think the one that told me to throw it back was a fairy and the one that told me to eat it was the devil". I asked him if he meant angel. Without taking his eyes off the far wall, he replied, "yeah, maybe".

I am not counting on him extending his new compassion for life to his sister or brother. One miracle is enough for this not-so-little-anymore boy.