Colorblind

From the moment he arrived, Abraham was interested in everything. On the first day at our house, he was like a human pinball, bouncing from one distraction to the next, lighting up with the advent of discovery, flashing a beaming smile and catapulting to the next distraction. Anything that could be switched on was left that way and typically carried around until something new replaced it. The phrase "like a kid in a candy shop" doesn't quite sum it up. It was more like taking a young Thomas Edison before he perfected the light bulb and transporting him to Las Vegas for a night. Or maybe take someone who is dying of thirst to Niagara Falls.

Later, we'd find out his family had a television and a VCR, so it wasn't like he hadn't seen this stuff before. It was just that there were now so many more choices. This reminds me of a book called the Paradox of Choice by Barry Schwartz. In it, Schwartz comments on how those of us who live in first world societies where mass production provides access to a dizzying array of choices, and how making a selection can be almost paralytic.

Here's an excerpt:

Scanning the shelves of my local supermarket recently, I found 85 different varieties and brands of crackers. As I read the packages, I discovered that some brands had sodium, others didn't. Some were fat-free, others weren't. They came in big boxes and small ones. They came in normal size and bite size. There were mundane saltines and exotic and expensive imports.

My neighborhood supermarket is not a particularly large store, and yet next to the crackers were 285 varieties of cookies. Among chocolate chip cookies, there were 21 options. Among Goldfish (I don't know whether to count them as cookies or crackers), there were 20 different varieties to choose from.

Across the aisle were juices — 13 "sports drinks," 65 "box drinks" for kids, 85 other flavors and brands of juices, and 75 iced teas and adult drinks. I could get these tea drinks sweetened (sugar or artificial sweetener), lemoned, and flavored.

Ironically, when I Googled the book, Amazon suggests there are 300,000 books I can read on my Kindle and Google gives me 1,320,000 results for "paradox of choice."

The funny thing with Abraham was that he just kept zoning in on something new, soaking up the entertainment value of it and moving on. Though I think Abraham's responses helps make Schwartz's point. With so many choices, Abraham couldn't just settle on one thing. He always had something new to discover.

What was interesting about this process of acclimating to our house was how Abraham didn't carry any preconceived notions about style, selection, pattern or color. When we pulled riding toys out of the garage, he jumped on Olivia's purple princess bike and happily rode around the driveway. When we pulled out bike helmets, he chose Olivia's flowered helmet. If we played a movie for the girls, he was just as happy to watch princess movies as he was to watch action movies.

It got me thinking about how it is that we indoctrinate our kids with "male" choices and "female" ones and why a kid like Abraham was so free from these preferences. I suppose there's a lot of subtle guidance that goes on with the parents, not-so-subtle marketing coming from manufacturers and a certain amount of natural gravitation for kids. I suppose at home, Abraham isn't bombarded with marketing for boys and many of their toys still have universal appeal.

It wasn't long before I was asking Abraham which flavor ice cream he wanted and he couldn't decide from the 64 flavors available. Then there was the time I accidentally switched plates and put the Barbie plate in front of him for dinner. He looked up at me and said "papa, why a pink plate?" I was stunned.

So I must confess that while we provided a home and food and clothes and entertainment for this child from Ethiopia, we also indoctrinated him with the heaping plate of choices served to Americans. We also gave him the option to be more of a boy and to adopt the code of American boyhood which classifies action figures not dolls, prefers blue and black over pink and polka dotted and insists on riding the carousel horse with hunting equipment or not riding at all.

Eventually, he settled on his favorites. He loved Spiderman and the color red. He favored a red scooter and a white bike with a pink seat but no princess (occasionally swiping Owen's black bike when it was unattended). He loved pop ice (any flavor) and gummy candy (Spiderman). He loved anything that shot water, flew or ran on batteries (no preferences aside from Spiderman). He never could suppress his excitement enough to wait his turn. I couldn't really blame him.

With the subtle changes that I observed in Abraham came a lesson. It's not so much about limiting choice or carefully trying not to direct their choices. Actually, I'm more concerned about paying attention to what my kids care about. What can I offer them that would be more valuable than material possessions? I could see how quickly attitudes can be changed and how quickly we lose our kids hearts when we're not paying attention.

It seems that it's that attention they need. They crave it. It's why they interrupt, repeat things until we respond, yell until our ears burn. For kids, their entire world hinges on our attention, our response, our approval or disapproval. For a time, we define and shape their world. Their understanding of this world and its myriad of choices is filtered through us. It's almost as if there's a cosmic stopwatch giving us an opportunity to make an impact. What will we prepare them with and how will we guide them to make the right choices? It's powerful stuff, but it's worth a daily reminder. I think I'll remember every time I see a pink bike.

Thanks for the lesson Abraham.