Gavin accompanied me on a post-Christmas trip to the local Goodwill, and he learned first hand what goodwill means. After "receiving" so much at Christmas time, it was a good opportunity for him to do some giving.
Incognito, Sara had packed up a big black lawn bag full of forgotten toys and tied the top the best she could. To further avoid a huge confrontation on which toys to keep and what not to keep, I only casually mentioned that we had to take some "things" to the Goodwill, and not that his toys were involved. Most of the items are toys these kids have outgrown and had been shelved for more than year. A major un-cluttering was needed. I was silently hoping not to have to explain all of this to Gavin.
He cheerfully hops in my truck, happy to be in the front seat "where he can see the speed limit signs".
We arrive at the store, and I begin to remove the black bag. Gavin is now curious. I've used Goodwill as a threat in the past, i.e. "You boys better take care of your stuff, or I'll take it to Goodwill." Those threats were now surfacing in Gavin's brain as he eyed the overstuffed lawn bag.
"What do you do with the stuff here?" he asked.
"We leave it here at this building, and the man in there will give me a receipt."
"What can I do with a receipt?" He looked puzzled.
"Well, it's for my taxes, and it's like money." I wondered where his line of interrogation would take us, as I struggled to hoist the bag over the side of the truck.
"Can we go to Target with the money?" he pressed onward. Perfect! I'll deflect his questions by turning the conversation to income and deductions, rather than face a showdown over his, ahem, "donation".
"No, it's not really money. Its just a piece of paper that says I can keep more of the money I earn this year. The more toys we give away, the more money I can keep." Oh great - now I've done it. Toys, I said. The cat is out of the proverbial bag, and also Gavin's "Wheels On the Bus" game is plainly protruding through the top of the Hefty sack.
"Are those my toys?" he asked. I could instantly tell his blood pressure was rising, and I knew bomb defusion was my most critical skill at this moment.
"These were our family's toys, and since we have lots of new stuff to play with from Santa, we get to share these with other kids." He pondered that for about 1 second, then started to pull the Wheels On the Bus game out of the bag. I let him struggle with that for a bit as I thought about the most tactful way to make this a teaching moment.
In the back of my mind, I guess I invited him on this mission to show him that my previous threats were not a bluff, that Goodwill really was a place I could - and darn well would - take his toys. So then I thought, to heck with it, let's get all the cards on the table here. What's the worst that could happen? "Well," I thought to myself, "He could scream at the top of his lungs and onlookers would think I'm a terrible dad." So what else is new? As long as he doesn't run out into traffic during the apocalyptic meltdown, I'm doing alright. Besides, I like to be glared at.
I opened the sack. He pulled out his Bus game, looked at the box with its happy bus full of students and singing driver, then held it under his arm as he probed further into the black bag. He was frantically trying to salvage anything he could. His breathing was becoming shallow and accelerated. Not a good sign.
I chose my words very carefully as I asked him, "Do you remember the last time you played with this game?"
"No."
"Well I do, and we had a lot of fun, but you were four. That was 2 years ago. Now we can let another little 4 year old have fun with it." I emphasized the phrase "little four year old" because Gavin relishes being an older, wiser, superior-in-all-ways first grader to the younger kids. That statement reached him, I think.
He didn't get a chance to respond. Just then, as if sent from above, (or maybe she had just been eavesdropping on our parking lot face-off) a smiling older woman approached us with a question for Gavin:
"Did you bring that here so that somebody else can play with it?" She asked, gesturing to the Wheels On the Bus game he clutched to his side. He stood silently looking at the game. He gets shy and clams up around people outside of our immediate family.
"Yes we did," I answered for him.
"Well my four year old grandson would just love to play with that at his house. He loves school busses. Would you like to give it to him?"
Again Gavin said nothing. He quickly scanned around the parking lot for the 4 year old she spoke of, as if the kid were there hiding, ready to burglarize all the toys.
"I can take it to him. He would be so happy," she continued.
Gavin loosened a bit, but remained non commital and silent.
"See Gav? This game is already going to a good family!" I prodded.
He stood as still as a statue, eyes staring at me, avoiding the nice lady. His eyes were full of conflict, like Frodo at the brim of Mt. Doom, wavering on his resolve to toss the One Ring into the fire.
I didn't know which way the scales were going to tip on this one. Previous data is saying that it'll probably end up with Gavin flat on his back in the parking lot, full blown melt down, and an awkward confused look from any adults present. For me, it was another one of those moments when I wished I had a sign. A sign to explain that my son isn't "neurotypical." A sign that says "He's not a brat. He has autism. He's really a sweet, loving kid. He and I are both doing the best we can."
Turns out no sign was needed.
After a few uncomfortable seconds, his eyes became teary and he straightforwardly held the game up to the lady.
"Oh thank you so much!" she gushed. "My grandson will have so much fun with this!" She took hold of the game. He let it go. The transaction actually went down without a hitch. Unbelievable.
"You're welcome," Gavin said sheepishly, then buried his red-flushed face in my coat.
That's my boy. Learning to be a giver, not just a receiver.
Nevertheless, I didn't waste any time tying the bag back up and carrying it into the donation center. He seemed smugly pleased with himself as he said to me,
"Dad. If we come here again we will just bring a small bag of stuff."
Now I'm the confused one. Did that statement mean he got the point, or not?
