The Tiger’s Child and Somebody Else’s Kids 2-in-1 Collection. Torey Hayden

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СКАЧАТЬ as if a person were sitting in it. We were discussing angry feelings and sad feelings and how the two sometimes got mixed up. I had asked the children in turn to think of an occasion when someone had made them each feel that way, then to imagine that that person was sitting in the empty chair and to talk to him or her, telling that person about their feelings. It took us a while to get going. I gave an example, placing in the chair a neighbor of mine who disliked my cat, and then telling the empty chair how angry it made me feel when I saw him abusing my pet. Then the children had turns. It wasn’t until we were on our second round that everyone began to pick up the right mood.

      Tamara’s second turn came. “I’m going to put my mom in that chair,” she said.

      “Okay,” I replied. “And what do you want to tell your mom?”

      “I’m fed up with the baby.”

      “Okay.”

      Tamara looked over at me. “I want to tell her I don’t want to take care of the baby anymore. Why did she have so many kids that she can’t take care of them all herself?”

      “Can you tell her that?” I asked. “Imagine she’s sitting just there and you tell her how you feel.”

      “I don’t want to take care of the baby anymore,” Tamara said. “I’m sick of the baby. He’s not mine. It’s not fair, just because I’m oldest. Why do I have to take care of him?”

      Tears came to her eyes and she stopped. Looking over at me, she said, “I’m too little to take care of him.”

      I pointed to the chair. “Why don’t you tell her you feel like that? That you feel too small for such a big responsibility?”

      Tamara nodded tearfully. “I’m just little, Mama. I need you to take care of me.”

      She sat down, and for a long moment everyone was absorbed in a pensive silence.

      “Okay, Violet?” I said gently. “How about you?”

      Violet lumbered to her feet. She approached the chair, walked around it, all the while regarding the seat. During the first round, she had seated a girl from school in the chair. Violet told me that she wanted to ask the girl why she always treated her in such a mean way, but when redirected to imagine the girl sitting in the chair and to address her comments there, Violet had degenerated into silly chatter about ghosts. I wasn’t holding out much hope for this new attempt. Violet’s problems were so all-pervasive that she didn’t appear able to cope with such a direct approach.

      “I’m going to put Alejo in the chair,” Violet said, much to my surprise.

      Alejo wasn’t far away. We were in a circle only feet away from where Sheila had been lying prone on the floor and talking to him; however, over the course of the empty-chair exercise, Sheila had gotten caught up listening to us and was now sitting cross-legged on the edge of the circle. She ducked her head slightly to see Alejo under his tangle of furniture when his name was mentioned.

      “All right,” I said. “What do you want to say to Alejo?”

      “Why don’t you come with us, Alejo?” Violet said, approaching the chair. She cocked her head and regarded it closely, as if really seeing the boy. “Why do you keep hiding from us? It isn’t scary here and I miss you. I wish you would come out.”

      She circled the chair and then came to stand on the left side of it. “I feel angry with you when you go hide, because I think you don’t like me. I feel sad, because I want to be your friend. Why don’t you come out? I want you to be with us.”

      “All right.”

      Stunned, we all jerked our heads over to see Alejo standing beside the stacked table.

      “He’s come out!” David shrieked with such loudness that I fully expected Alejo to bolt back under, but he didn’t.

      “Do you want to join us?” I asked. I snagged a chair from an adjacent table and pulled it into our circle.

      Alejo remained right where he was.

      “Would you like to play too? Do you want to talk to someone in the empty chair?” I asked.

      He shook his head.

      Sheila, still sitting cross-legged on the floor, reached her hand out. “Come here, Alejo. Sit down beside me.”

      Without hesitation, he went over to her and sat down.

      “Let’s change things. You’ve had a chance to talk to the empty chair. Now, let’s pretend the empty chair can talk back,” I said. “Tamara, you just talked to your mom, sitting in the empty chair. Now you go sit in the empty chair.”

      Hesitantly, she rose from her place, walked across the circle and sat down in the empty chair in the center.

      “Now you’re your mom. You just heard what Tamara said. You answer her back.”

      Tamara sat silent a long moment. “I don’t mean to make you work so hard,” she started quietly. “I just got too many children.” She paused. “Don’t get married, Tamara. Don’t have babies.” Then she stood up and walked back to her place.

      “My turn now. I get to be Alejo,” Violet said and beamed at him. She went over to the empty chair and sat down. “I’m glad you asked me to come out, Violet. I was tired of being under there. You acted good to me. Now I’m going to be your friend.”

      I smiled at Violet and then looked over at Alejo. “Can you share with us how it made you feel, when Violet said how much she wanted you to come join us again?”

      “Good,” he said.

      Sheila and I didn’t join Jeff and Miriam for lunch as we usually did. I had a client meeting very near the school in the early afternoon, so I’d brought my lunch with the idea of eating it over in the park across the street. Deprived of her usual ride down to Fenton Boulevard, Sheila needed to make the rather complicated set of connections from the main road two blocks over. She left immediately after the program ended that morning and I assumed she was headed for the bus stop; however, she returned, a McDonald’s bag in hand, and joined me on my picnic bench in the park.

      “I don’t have to go home right away,” she said, “It’s just an empty house anyway.”

      “I’m always glad for company,” I said, as I unwrapped my sandwiches.

      We spent a moment with our food.

      “What do you usually do in the afternoons when you get home?” I asked.

      Sheila shrugged. “Depends.”

      “Do you get together with friends?”

      She hesitated over her food, then shrugged again. “Not usually.”

      “I don’t hear you mention friends very often,” I said.

      “Doesn’t mean I don’t have any, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said a bit testily. “Just I don’t do much with them, that’s all.” She took a bite of her hamburger. “It’s a dorky school I go to. There’s not really anyone there I’d СКАЧАТЬ