Finn the Conqueror

Finally it’s spring, and she takes the boys out of the small apartment for several hours each morning. “What will it be today Finn, where shall we go, the park, the playground?” Finn wants to go to the playground, to the zoo where he’d seen a snake and hit another child and they’d had to leave, to the botanical garden where the flowers are just now blooming. “Put on your jacket, Finn. Finn? Stop pushing Madsie. Stop right now or you’ll get a timeout.” Now she’s bent down, tying their sneaker laces in double bows, stretching their pullovers down onto their wriggling bodies, preparing treats, making sure there’s no wheat for Finn and that little Madsie has something to chew. “Where’s your green truck Finn? Find your green truck for Mummy.” She carries the bags and toys and extra sweaters and her pocketbook out the door and down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, then runs back to prop open the door and retrieve the double-stroller from under the stairs. She carries it out and unfolds it, smacks the loose wheel back into place so it doesn’t fall off, making sure the boys don’t run into the street—it could happen so fast, just like that, one of them crushed by a passing car, kidnapped by a pederast, they are just the right age and Madsie so cute—then runs in to close the door and back out again. She starts walking toward the park with them strapped in the stroller, checking again for keys, water bottle, blankets, wallet, cell-phone. The green truck falls off the stroller. “Finn, you want to ride the truck? We’re a train! It’s the number six coming into the station at fourteenth street! Stand clear of the closing doors!” Finn pushes the plastic truck furiously forward, rattling fast along the concrete too far ahead. “Finn! Come back Finn! Wait for the train!” Stopping for rice-flour cookies at the Chinese bakery, for coffee at the bodega, for spice at the grocery for the roast chicken, stopping at the video store to return the animated movie that was too violent for kids even though it was made for them. Today she decides to say something, to make a remark, since the man had told her there was no violence and there had been a lot—a huge amount—every scene ended with it, every little problem was resolved with someone getting smashed by a heavy object used as a weapon, any fool could see, and aren’t there any children’s movies without the violence she doesn’t want Finn to see because he already attacks everyone, other kids, passing dogs, even adults? But the man still claims the movie is great for kids, all the other parents go for it and he knows a thing or two about movies, has been in the business for years, used to run a projector in the union, with kids of his own. “Yes sorry, thank you. Finn, we’re going. No movies today. No movie.” Back in the street, she untangles Madsie’s leg that was twisted in the blanket, waits for the light, crosses the street with the stroller, waits for the other light, crosses the other street, enters the park and follows the winding trail.

Now they’re at the playground, where Finn runs to the sand pit, grabbing other kids’ toys from their hands, making them cry out. “Finnn, don’t take the yellow truck. He was playing with it. Where’s your green truck Finn? That’s right. Good boy Finn. You’re such a good boy today!” Positive reinforcement, what the psychologist had said was her only weapon, but she has to intervene forcefully as Finn runs after a little girl to hit her, then grabs his truck and swings it with all his might at a woman’s leg, his face a mask of fury. “Time out Finn! You come over here right now. Sit here! I saw you hit that girl. Sit here for your timeout. You must never hit, not ever.” He starts to obey, then raises his arm to point accusingly at her. “Double timeout for you!” He is yelling. “Triple timeout!”