Apple on a Drive

The phone rings in tandem with my alarm. It’s novel writing time, and for once, I’m in the mood. The phone peals again. It’s one of my sons. Or Yakov, my son’s three-year-old. If I pick up, I’m stuck on the phone, and then I’ll lose my writing momentum. 

I need to push myself to do this novel as is. All those doubts if it’s worthwhile and good and whether I'm enough drag down my drive to labor on something I love. 

The phone peals one more time. If I don’t pick up now, it will go to voicemail, and Yakov’s dismayed rant will haunt me forever.

“Hello?”

“Bubby! Gibberish, gibberish, apple dipping.” 

“Oh, you have candy apple, fun!”

“NO!” he pounds out every syllable like a bulldozer. “We. Are. Going. Apple. Picking.”

“Apple picking, yay!” I feel an itch to get into my characters now.

“I’ll have a bag, and put in apples. Lots of apples.”

I skim the words I wrote yesterday. “Lots of apples, wow!” I feel my enthusiasm ebb. For my story. Not Yakov’s.

The kid shouts out again how he’ll put apples into the bag. “And then I’ll bring it home and make a borei pri ha’apple.” Quick pause. “Ha’etz. And we’ll eat it on Shabbos.”

I chuckle silently. So cute. “Yum! You’ll eat them on Shabbos.” My eyes rove over corrections I must make. It’s bad.

Yakov’s shout becomes a holler as he repeats his entire mantra then adds a line. “And I’ll go into the car, and I’ll drive to your house, and I’ll bring you an apple.”

Something goes warm in my chest. “Oh! Thank you, Yakov. You’re going to come to me to bring me an apple. I love that.”

The kid shouts out his entire list again like a spinning wheel, and I? I lock my computer screen, tune into the march in his tone. The way he fine-tunes his story with abandon. 

I follow him, duckling-like, repeat his list, starting from the last action, and then do a little tease. “From where will you get the apples?”

His voice rises as he repeats everything again. I do another rendition of his story and repeat my question, in a curious lilt. A soft whisper in my chest. Will he get the answer before he loses his drive? 

There’s a pause from the kid, then his tone crashes into the phone. “I’ll take it from the flower, and…” pours out the entire post again.

I sit up in my swivel chair as I do another rundown of his story before I repeat this million-dollar question. “Where is the apple from?”

Silence. 

In the background, I hear his mommy talking softly… words filter in… ‘Apple. Grow. Leaves.’ She’s leading him towards success without spilling the information. My entire self nods in the chair. 

I wait while the kid does another repeat, starting with leaves and grow. I copy his momentum, my anticipation tingling, and ask my question again at the end. 

The phone explodes with excitement. “From the tree!” 

“You got it!” I laugh.

Out marches his entire story again, starting from the apple on a branch. I chuckle to myself as I soak in the musical lilt in his tone. When he’s done with his repeat, I run my own. “Yakov, you told me the story of the apple a lot of times, and now you know it, and I know it.” 

“I tell good stories.”

“Yes, you do.” I relax into my seat as I bid my goodbye, click open my novel draft. There’s a drive in me as my fingers run on the keyboard. 

I tell good stories. 

Yakov discovered it with repetition, attuned listening, and gentle prompting that set him up for success. 

That’s the way to develop novel drive and character. 

In one self. 

Tuning in to young children never came easily to me, until I tuned into my husband’s play therapy process … and to myself. 

That’s why I added empathy and all that good stuff to More Cookies and More Bandages, so you too can experience tuning in to your own children. 

And yourself. 

If you want more info on Zevi Wachsler, LCSW, play therapist, check it out HERE.