“Maverick Heath, if you say that again, we are going home right now!” I scolded. It’s Saturday morning and I’m at the trampoline park crawling after Maverick and Naomi as they make their way through the indoor playground. There are alternating matted platforms that you have to climb in order to reach the top of the purple, tunneled slide. Naomi is too short so I give her bottom a little boost as her legs dangle from one platform to the next. Only a couple inches taller than Naomi, I let Maverick try.

“I can’t! I can’t get up, Mommy!”

“Yes. YES, YOU CAN. You just need help, Mav,” I reassure him as I guide his feet onto my thigh like a step stool. At the next, platform, again, I redirect his can’t. You can, you just need help. You can, you just have to try again. It wasn’t until he said can’t for the third or fourth time that I threatened that open jump was going to be cut short and we were all going home. It felt like the nearby parents at this enormous trampoline warehouse suddenly got quiet when I lost my patience. I could feel nosey eyes watching me and Maverick stare at each other through the mesh into the playground. A pause in time as yelling kids ran around us. Maverick looks at me with his light brown eyes and messy curls. He knows I’m serious even though I probably don’t look it, sitting on my knees, way too big for this play area, and sweating. He grunts at me then turns around and with his grippy trampoline socks uses the mesh to lift himself sideways onto the platform.

He’s excited. “I did it, Mommy!”

“See! I told you, Maverick. You CAN do it.” He nods his head, gives me a high five, and climbs the next half a dozen platforms above us in the same fashion. The other parents go on with their business and I chuckle to myself as I continue to sweat and squeeze through small spaces after my 3- and 2-year olds.

In our house, you will hear a curse word here and there, maybe when Ricky stubs his toe on a toy- f&*^ or we totally forgot about something scheduled for weeks- oh, S#!%. Then a few days later, you will hear a curse word here and there by one of our children. Ricky and I try not to laugh. We let it roll right off our shoulders and remind them that they shouldn’t say those words. It never goes any further than that.

However, if you say can’t in our house, then guess what? You get reminded the first time, then reprimanded if you say it again, and maybe even a time-out if it continues. If we notice a pattern then we blast I Can by Nas on repeat and all of us rap and sing obnoxiously in your face. My kids tattle tale on each other for saying can’t. I will let Naomi cry her face off attempting to put her socks on for 30 minutes and make us all late for work and daycare simply because she told me she can’t put on her socks just to prove my point… YOU CAN. No one is going to tell you you can’t ESPECIALLY not yourself. So open the sock please, stick your chubby toes in, and pull, baby girl, so we can all move on with our days knowing that we can all do whatever the eff we put our minds to.

My oldest, Skylar, who is 4 years old will even correct us. A couple of weeks ago, we were driving through the city, and Ricky needed to see the passenger side view mirror to change lanes for an exit. I’m bent forward looking through my purse and blocking his view. I can’t see, Felicia.

“Um, Daddy. You just said can’t. That’s a bad word,” Skylar said as a matter of fact.

I looked at him and held my breathe for his reaction. This is not the time to give exceptions to the word can’t, babe. She is right, I thought.

I don’t remember his exact response, but I remember exhaling in relief when he validated Skylar. He confirmed that she was indeed correct and that he was able to see after all. He went on to suggest that next time he will rephrase it to something like move your head, Mommy, so that I can see. She was content with his answer and I was so proud of her. Skylar knows all of the acceptable alternatives to saying I can’t, which include:

• I need help

• I will try again

• Teach me how

• When I grow [blank] then I can i.e. taller, stronger, bigger, etc.

I expect her to give her daycare teachers resistance if they tell her she can’t do something even if it’s a rule. You can do that, Skylar, you’re just not allowed to do it at school, I’ve explained in the past. I think this can sound extreme, and maybe controversial to some, but I firmly believe in how we are doing things. Trust me, my intention is not to raise rebels. Rather, I am trying to build a foundation of confidence so strong, that no one, nowhere, in any circumstance, can ever crack it… let alone themselves when me and Daddy aren’t around. If we’re lucky, they will develop into bold, self-assured, and uplifting individuals.

After that day at the trampoline park, Maverick had a week when he said can’t more than usual. I overheard him as he tried to building something with his legos and when he was buttoning up his jacket. During that same week, I was post-call and Ricky had a lighter schedule at his office so we decided that it was a good opportunity to let him visit the hospital and Daddy’s office. He had been asking to see work ever since Skylar made a visit over 6 months ago just before turning four. Initially, going to work would be something we would try to do near their 4th birthdays, but Maverick is only three. Unlike how we approach using the word can’t, we made an exception.

He kicked his legs and tugged on his carseat straps in elation when we pulled into the parking lot. He had his button up shirt on, a mint green stethoscope, and an American Geriatric Society lanyard hanging around his neck. The sliding doors opened and when he spotted Daddy in his crisp white coat, you would have thought Maverick had not seen his father in days. I was even thrown off a bit by his excitement and his energy elevated both of ours. Ricky introduced Maverick to his staff and explained their roles in the practice. We saw the physical therapy space where patients got stronger and then an exam room where they were seen by their doctor, Daddy. Maverick practiced using his stethoscope, learned about the pulse ox, and how to flatten out the exam bed with the foot control. We went to Daddy’s office where Maverick spun around in his desk chair and before leaving, Maverick gave Ricky a self-portrait he had drawn earlier in the week to pin up on his board. We talked about his visit the whole drive home before he drifted off to sleep.

Coincidental or not, he has not said can’t in quite a while and there have been a few times when he has corrected Naomi’s language. In a world that will show and tell our kids the many reasons why they can’t as they grow up, we are determined to show and tell them otherwise. We have that opportunity while they are young and moldable and spending more time with us than they ever will as they become school-aged and eventually teenagers. So every single day in our house, they prove to themselves how capable they truly are and we prove to them our unwavering belief in them. Sometimes, this means redirecting their use of the word can’t into a more positive and productive approach, and sometimes, it means we make it visible and undeniable. Maverick got to see his Daddy at work as a doctor- a Johns Hopkins University trained, board-certified Geriatrician and dementia expert who once was a boy from the hood, told can’t too many times worth counting. It’s in your blood and spirit, baby. You can and you will. So let’s keep on figuring out how we can get to the top.