My mother’s death last week unearthed a great deal of anger. One morning after I finished ranting on the phone, my son, Nate, who is nigh five, asked, “What was that?” I replied that I was ranting. He inquired further, “What’s ranting?” I told him that it is being really mad and complaining A LOT.

He digested this information and deemed it a fine idea. While we walked to the library, he asked me to pretend to rant about doors. After that, he asked me to pretend to rant about trees. My mood lightened considerably; it was novel and amusing to grouse about things with which I take no issue, and to reuse phrases that I had used in my actual rant: “I have different values about trees. I just don’t agree with leaves! And there are so many of them!” He griped in agreement, “In other countries, it might be better.”

This morning after I said good morning to my son, the first words out of his mouth were, “Can you rant about curtains?” The timing startled me because I was just finishing a shamanic exercise to resolve some of my anger. I eyed my son and asked, “Did you ask me to rant because it’s funny?” No answer. I asked, “Did you ask me to rant because you are being my teacher?” He said, “Yes. Just pretending.” I said, “Okay. Let’s pretend to rant against curtains.”

So we did. We railed against how dirty and dusty they get just hanging there. We kvetched about how when it’s sunny out, the light is too bright and comes through the curtains and around the edges. Geesh! We bemoaned the fact that it’s too bright out! And we wanted darkness! But then, with a magical plop! nighttime arrived and darkness enveloped us like a cozy blanket. We were comforted.

After that, we pretended to rant about ceiling fans. I groaned, “It’s turning too fast! It won’t stop. Aarrrggh!” Nate hollered, “It keeps turning! There’s no cord!” I howled, “There’s no switch either! I can’t find it. I can’t make it stop! I can’t! I CAN’T DO IT!”

By this point, feeling helpless was beginning to feel authentic. Nate cried, “It’s automatic! It’s on a sensor! When you’re inside, it’s on. You have to go outside and it will turn off!”

I blinked. I could do this for real.

“On an automatic sensor‽ I can’t believe that no one told me it was on a sensor all this time‽‽‽ What a waste! I’ve wasted my whole life!!!” He lamented, “It took ALL my energy!” I wailed, “How stupid! Stupid, stupid, STUPID!!!”

My son abruptly advised, “Talk to the fan. Tell it to turn off.”

Huh? Turn it off?

Okay, I could pretend to do this. So I did. And it turned off. Phew. What a release. Regardless of the past, I now had a new process. I also had a power.

I regarded my pint-sized trickster and I gathered him up for a giant hug. “I am so lucky to have you as my pretend coach ~ therapist ~ teacher!”

He beamed from ear to ear.