Carl R. Nassar, Ph.D.

A small child played with toy cars at the foot of his bed. The sporty red Camaro in one hand was closely pursued by the police cruiser in the other. Imagined sounds of a high-speed chase escaped the boy's mouth. "Mrrrrrr...mm...mm...mrrrrrrooommmm!" shouted the boy, mimicking the sounds of a car accelerating as it shifted gears. "Woooow...woooow....woooow," blared make-believe police car sirens in hot pursuit. He was a child lost to the world around him, creating an imaginary universe of delight for his personal pleasure.

The sudden appearance of his parents jolted him back to the reality of the larger world he lived him.

"Hi, sweetie," Mom announced warmly as she walked in the room.

"Hi, son," Dad declared, standing by her side.

He looked up. His concentration broken, he abandoned the high-speed chase taking place by his bed.

"Son," Dad continued, "we've got something we'd like to tell you. And it's very exciting news."

The boy looked up tentatively, remembering that what his parents considered exciting was not always that way for him.

"Sweetie," his mom interjected, "we've decided that you don't have enough friends. And, to help you make more friends, we've enrolled you in preschool."

"Preschool," Dad jumped in, the perfection of his timing and the clarity of his words suggesting their practiced nature, "preschool is a place filled with games, and other people like yourself -- your size, your age, with your interests. You can go and play with them all day long, and then we'll come and pick you up when the playing is done and you can play some more with us.'

"Preschool is a lot of fun," his mom added.

The boy looked up, and from the expression on his face, it was obvious that he was giving careful consideration to his parents' suggestion.

"Well, what do you think? Are you ready to go?"

He continued to think about it for many more moments. Then, with clarity and resolve, more than I remembered ever seeing in a four-year-old, he declared, "No. Thank you. But I'm having fun here. Maybe another time."

Believing this was the end of it, he resumed the high-speed chase he had abandoned just moments earlier.

His parents looked at each other, concern coloring their expressions, sharing an unspoken, "We were hoping it wouldn't come to this."

"Sweetie," his mom said as softly as she could muster, again bringing a quick end to the miniature police pursuit, "your dad and I already enrolled you in the school. We think it's best that you make friends. We want you to go and try it today."

The boy looked up and, with great clarity and disarming honesty, presented a simple solution in line with his wanting. "Please call the school and tell them I'm not coming. I'm happy right where I am."

"Besides," the boy continued, deciding to add evidence to back his declaration, "I have Bucky, my imaginary friend, and he's the best friend in the whole wide world."

His parents looked at each other, concern growing on their faces. This was going to be harder than they had hoped. But it wasn't normal, they had decided, for a boy to spend so much time alone with imaginary friends. Real friends were important in this world, they had told each other, and it was time the boy made some.

"Sweetie," his mom started, speaking gently, but with hints of impatience in her voice, "I'm not sure of the best way to tell you this. But I'm afraid you will be going to that school today. Your dad and I enrolled you, we paid good money to get you in there, and you will go. Today. In fifteen minutes."

The boy didn't know exactly how long fifteen minutes was, but he knew it was soon, a lot sooner than never, which was what he had been lobbying for. His mind left the room for a moment, lost in thought. I wanted to know what he was thinking, so I asked Joy for the glasses. She handed me her rose-colored pair, and as I put them on, the world was aglow in rainbows of color. I could see worlds inside and out. I focused on the boy, wanting to learn more of him as the events unfolded.

I want a way out. I told them I don't want to go, with great clarity, but they aren't willing to listen to what I know to do to take care of myself.

How can I help them understand how much I want to stay home? What can I do to help them see how much my heart and soul wants to be here, not in the preschool of their choosing?

Let me try a big smile and loving words. Why, that helped me get the chocolate chip cookie that I wanted yesterday morning. It could work here too.

"Mom, Dad," the boy said, looking up at his parents. His face softened, and he smiled warmly at them. He even changed the inflection with which he spoke, making his sounds more loving. "I r-e-a-l-l-l-l-y want to be here, and play with my cars and my toys and Bucky. Can you please understand and let me stay here today?"

For a moment, it seemed to him, this just might work. He just might get what it was he wanted: the freedom to stay and play at home. His parents seemed touched by the sincerity and loving nature of the voice.

"Well, Joe," Mom said, "if he really wants to be here, maybe we should trust what it is he wants."

"No, Mary," Dad replied, "we've talked about this, and it's best for him to make friends now. We don't want him alone and isolated his entire life."

His valiant effort had only created one convert, and he would need to convert two if he was going to get what he wanted. His internal world went into overdrive:

What now?

He considered the gamut of emotions he could try on. Joy, laughter, delight, thoughtfulness, calm, serenity. None of these seemed capable of encouraging his parents to listen to the knowing of his heart and soul.

Wait! Of course. I've seen it on TV and I've tried it a few times in my life. Strangely enough, it seems to work. I don't really know why, but when I do this, Mom and Dad seem to give me all kinds of attention. When I do this, they are ten times more likely to give me what I want. When I do this, more than anything else, my parents understand how much I care about having what I want. Well, I really don't want to go to preschool, and if this is the only way they'll understand how much I want to stay home, then, well, why not?

With that, the boy inhaled deeply, and on the exhalation let out a deep scream. "I don' wanna go!" he bellowed. As if carefully orchestrated by an inner conductor, tears now began to form and flow down his rounded cheeks. Deep sobs followed.

A moment of silence created the brief illusion that the boy was going to stop. That notion was quickly shattered when we all realized that he was just taking in a deep breath to scream and sob all the more loudly on his next exhalation.

As I looked at his parents, I saw the power of the boy's sadness at work. They jumped to action, as if somehow called to arms.

"See, Joe," Mom said, clearly disturbed by her son's tears, "I told you this was a bad idea. I told you he would never go."

This is working, the little boy thought to himself, this is working well. Better make it bigger.

The little actor began to wail now, crying uncontrollably, or so it seemed.

"We've got to do something,' Mom declared.

"Listen, he's got to learn to make friends," Dad spoke over the cries of his son.

"Yes, but does he have to do it now?" Mom rebutted. "Should we really be interrupting a world he's so happy in for what we think is right?"

"Of course," Dad responded, "We're his parents, that's why we're here."

But the screams were getting to Dad, too. He was speaking now with less confidence than before. The boy knew he was getting to them. Just a little longer and he would have what he wanted.

Mom walked over and picked him up, attempting to comfort him in her arms. It almost worked. For a moment the tears subsided. But suddenly the little child realized that to forget to cry now would jeopardize everything he had worked so hard for. He was so close to freedom from preschool...he couldn't give in to the comfort of Mom's embrace now. Not yet. With new resolve, the boy returned to his loud cries.

His parents tried a number of different ways to remedy their son's sadness. They brought him water, offered to bribe him with the sweetness of a cookie, told him gently he had to stop this crying, told him loudly he had to stop this crying. But with every failed attempt, they grew in desperation. The boy knew it. He had played out this scene with his parents a few times before. It wouldn't be long now before he had all that he wanted, and could return to the game of cars that had delighted him earlier.

"Okay," Dad finally resolved, "we won't make you go to school today."

Mom smiled at her husband, thanking him for saving their son from his self-inflicted misery.

"Thanks, Mom and Dad," the boy spoke as his sobs subsided. Then, as if nothing had ever happened, the boy returned to his toys, and began his game anew...the miniature police cruiser in a high speed chase with a little red Camaro.

"Joy," I said, the realization of what I had just witnessed starting to sink in, "is this...is this where unhappiness and misery come from?"

Joy waited for me to answer my own question.

"Misery came when I, as a little child, invited it in. I welcomed misery because I understood that she was a powerful motivator in the world around me.

"Smile, be joyous, be a delightful little fellow, and the world is happy to see you, but joy isn't good for getting you what you want."

"Oh, but use misery," I announced, ...and the world jumps, quick to try to save you from yourself. A few well-timed tears go a long way in getting you all you want. Some carefully placed anger and the world understands how much you care

"The squeaky wheel gets the grease, so I squeaked, and I got greased. And I said to myself, 'Look, this squeaking stuff works." So when I didn't have what I wanted, I squeaked, not because it was a good thing to do or a bad thing to do, but because it worked. I got my grease."

"Yes," Joy said, responding at last, "as a small child, you turned to misery as a helpful tool. You put it on the way you might today put on a T-shirt, a simple tool to help you in your everyday life.

"What you failed to realize," Joy continued, "was that your actions had side effects that even you as a small child could not imagine."

"You got so accustomed to putting on misery, that one day you forgot. You forgot that you were putting on the misery. You began to believe that the misery was an inevitable part of who you are. But you are not misery. You are perfection. You are Divinity. But, alas, you forget."

Excerpted with permission from The Spirit of Joy: A Transformational
Journey to Awaken the Soul by Carl R. Nassar, Ph.D., Miracle Books.