What do you get when you combine a stubborn, outspoken, extraverted early childhood activist and a stubborn, introverted, internalizing computer programmer? Give up? A three-year-old who is as stubborn as he is loud and aggressive as he is thoughtful.

We didn’t really have time to think this through…I have no clue what to do with a kid that is not only just like me, but also just like his father. When I thought about children in my youth, I thought about an adorable simile of myself, but in my mind’s eye the child inherited only my good traits, not the ones I would rather forget about.

It has now been three years since we received the shocking and exciting news we were expecting. I now find myself staring into the eye of my negative traits everyday. Sure, our son got some of my good traits too, but those are never the ones that he chooses to share in public or with my colleagues. He shows passion alright, but usually it is captured in phrases like, “You are the worst mommy ever!” “Didn’t you go to school to get me to behave?” “If you loved me, I would have ALL the trains!” Not exactly what I had in mind. The times I would like him to talk he is undoubtedly in a thoughtful mood where he would rather observe the reactions of everyone around than share his immense knowledge of colors, shapes, trains, and a disturbingly accurate account of how the water from our toilets eventually ends up in our faucets…. No, that would be too much to ask. But then again, maybe it is…

Our son has always been outspoken. Since he could talk at the age of 1 he has amazed us (as long as too many people aren’t listening) with his logic and uncanny ability to understand. When he was two it was apparent he would be a ham like his mother, but only in selected company…just like his father. He has always preferred to keep his talents to himself, whereas I would rather shout them from a rooftop and rent the world’s largest billboard to get the message across.

I distinctly remember one night after an exhausting effort to get him to repeat the word “sarcastically” (our newest fancy word used in context) to our family. I could read the doubt in their faces, “She’s finally lost it. I don’t understand why she makes these things up; we love him no matter what he says!” Why didn’t you say sarcastic for Maymo and Grandpa or Mia and Granddaddy? You said it earlier today. I know you can do it. “Mama, I don’t like doing tricks when you say.”

Those words hit me like the weight of all the bad parenting in the world. My preschooler felt like a dog doing tricks. Suddenly I had visions of my son with a clown collar around his neck balancing a ball on his nose while juggling fine china, all the while I stood in the corner saying in my best announcer’s voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, in this corner we have the AMAZING MATTHEW! Step right up, pay your money and enjoy the show!”

When did my pride in my son’s accomplishments become a freak show at the parenting circus? I suppose it could have happened the first time I said “Great job, now do it again?!” After all, he did inherit a mean mix of stubborn from his parental units…I know I wouldn’t do anything again just because someone told me to. I mean, come on, what am I a circus act placed on earth for your enjoyment? Oh, wait…back to the circus act again. All I could do was to apologize.

Apologizing to a three-year-old is like apologizing to a used car salesman about not purchasing a lemon. The wheels immediately started turning. “Oh mama, I feel so bad about it. I feel like a dog ! I don’t know how you could do that! Um, what did you do again?” I tried to play you like a puppet to quench my apparent need to quantify my parenting skills and your intelligence to the outside world. Oh the horror…wait…Matthew what do you think you will get if you make mommy feel bad about this? “A train.”

Another epiphany is headed my way, I can see it: A life time of puppet and puppet master is being played out before me. Instead of me being the puppet master exclusively, I also double as a puppet.

Matthew had read my cues and was playing me like a fine-tuned violin. Worse yet, it was working. He had played my own guilt to further his current purpose in life…collect all trains possible. In a sick, twisted way I couldn’t have been prouder of him than I was at that moment.

This is the way it is to be. I have a son that is smarter than both my husband and I. There is no way we will stay ahead of this little wonder for the rest of our God given lives. At best, we can hope to stay even and that is stretching it. I do know this: yes, I will always want to show my son off to the outside world; and, yes, Matthew will most likely refuse. I now have respect and understanding for his choice to keep his accomplishments to himself and reveal them only if and when his own stubborn heart feels the need. It is our traits and idiosyncrasies that make us who we are and help us to stand out and make our mark on the world This is a strange circus our family lives in, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.