Dr. Riley's approach dovetails with the belief of some behavior specialists that it's time for parents to reclaim their authority and, in Dr. Lawrence Diller's words, "to combine loving nurturing with firm discipline." These experts dispute the notion that explosive children are incapable of controlling their behavior. They believe that the majority of tantrum-prone children have been robbed of the incentive to change by a permissive culture that prefers to limit a person's accountability. Society would rather view bad behavior in children and adults as biological, outside a person's control.
"The discipline of children has been eroding in this country for the last 50 years," Diller writes. The prevalent attitude that frowns on parents for exercising authority over their kids creates confusion even in parents who believe in discipline. Children sense the ambivalence and use it to their advantage.
Let's return to little Ari, who was indefinitely suspended from his school after his whopper of a tantrum. The experience was shattering; he missed his friends and felt the pain of being excluded from them. For the first time he was forced to grasp the connection between his behavior and the lasting consequences it produced. He never did return to the school. We felt that in addition to the program of behavior modification and social skills coaching he was starting, it was important for Ari to start fresh in a new environment.
Meanwhile, in our sessions, we did numerous simulations of "roadmap" changes and the kind of disappointments that would characteristically trigger an explosion from him. Using a takeoff of one of Dr. Riley's most effective techniques, I had one of Ari's parents impersonate a make-believe "little pest" in Ari's head that urged him to do bad things. Ari, playing the mature "big kid," would resist. He seemed to like and identify with the "big kid" role. As he became comfortable with it, he began to improvise his own lines. An example:
Little Pest: Hey, Ari, Mommy says we can't go to the park today because it looks like rain. It's not fair. She's mean! Let's cry and scream!
Big Kid: No, babies do that. Big kids don't act like that. Maybe we could go somewhere else.
Little Pest: No! We don't want to go anywhere else. We want to go to the park. Let's kick something! Let's break something!
Big Kid: No, she won't. We'll just get into trouble. Besides, the park is no fun in the rain.
We all held our breath when Ari started his new school. In our sessions, we had play-acted all kinds of possible transitions and roadmap changes that were likely to arise as Ari adjusted to his new teacher and classmates. Ari and his parents continued working on exposure therapy at home. As he developed more emotional control, his tantrums at home became much less frequent and less explosive. He rarely blew up out of the house.
An email I received from Aliza toward the end of the school year made me smile.
"Just want to share with you an incident that happened today, Ari's birthday," she wrote. "The plan was to take the whole family out to eat in honor of the occasion. Ari was looking forward to it all week. That morning, however, my husband slipped and fell. When the kids got home, they saw Tatti with a cast on his foot.
"We told them the plans were changed and we would have a party at home, and eat out another night. Ari's face crumpled. He ran to his room sobbing and slammed the door. I waited for the explosion. Listening by his door I overheard what sounded like a pillow being thwacked and punched, and snatches of the following dialogue with Ari alternating between a Little Pest voice and a Big Kid voice.
"Let's explode big time! Let's tear the roof off! Let's throw a ball through the window!"
"No! We can't do that. We'll get in deep trouble. We'll get clobbered."
"They're mean! They're disgusting! Let's scream our heads off!"
"No! Keep your mouth shut. Count to twenty!"
"It's not fair! It's your birthday! They have no right to cancel it!"
Are you chuckling with me? Are you wiping a tear of happiness like I am as I write this?
Smiling - and wiping a tear - I called Aliza. It was Ari's birthday, after all. And how this little boy had grown.