A Ball of Whacks

 

I wrote this two and a half years ago.  I don't know where all the Whacks pieces are now, but teeth brushing can still be an issue.

A Ball of Whacks

This morning one of our foster children is in a strop.  Nothing is right for him.  Last night there was a row about whether he should clean his teeth and he went to bed declaring that he would not go to school today.  Now he is keeping to his word; he did not get out of bed for an hour after our waking him, has not dressed, and sits in the lounge not engaging with any of his usual routine – no breakfast, no TV, no jokes.

I go and sit next to him on the sofa to ask, again, if he wants his breakfast, and how he wants to get out of the situation.  Apparently it’s all my fault and I don’t know what I’m talking about – I’m too old.  He can’t explain why he’s feeling what he’s feeling, nor what might need to happen to resolve things.

When he can’t speak any more he picks up the Ball of Whacks that is on the coffee table – “This is how I feel” – and squeezes the Ball so that its 30 magnetic pieces scatter across the floor.

There’s nothing more to say.  I slowly pick up the pieces and reassemble the Ball, no doubt differently to how they were arranged before.  Putting it on the table I say to tell me when he’s ready for his breakfast, and leave the room.

30 seconds later the Ball is again smashed on the floor.  And so I will again pick up the pieces.

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