Wyatt paused over his Cheerios. I could see him formulating a...

Wyatt paused over his Cheerios. I could see him formulating a question, how to word it or maybe whether he should voice it at all.

Finally, he said, “I feel like you yell at me more than Boone.” He did this a bit timidly. He’s not a timid kid, but he knows how to play things for effect. Still, I know him well enough to discern he was playing timid because he was actually sad. My reply surprised him.

“You’re right,” I said, “I do.”

I told him he tests us more than his brother does, he pushes to get his own way more than his brother does, he’s vocal and persistent and focused in a way that makes things more difficult for us. So, yes, we do yell at him more because, as parents, we can only go back and forth on whether or not Oreos make a good breakfast option a certain number of times before we need to just nuke the argument and get back to making lunches or we’ll be late for school. Again.

But, then I said, “Don’t stop doing it, though, okay? Don’t stop testing and arguing for what you want.”

I explained that as he grows, the ability to identify, vocalize, and lobby for what he deserves will lead to great things—the raise for which others were afraid to ask, that amazing audition for a great role, the better deal, the bigger prize, the real story, whatever. I added that he already cares so much about others, I’m not worried that he’ll hurt or use someone in the process.

“Just continue being kind, continue being strong, continue being the amazing person you are, even if we yell at you more than your brother. You mom and I love you, no matter how loud we get.”

It may seem counterintuitive to encourage my son’s most aggravating trait. I look at it this way: My duty is not to strip him of his strengths, but rather to grow stronger myself so that when he pushes back I can keep a level head and help him hone that ability. And maybe I can also learn from him how to apply it in my own life.