As some of you might know, I don't like wearing jeans so much. Give me khakis. Cargo pants. Sweats. Even jorts. But jeans? Sure, I'll wear 'em. I wore some yesterday. But I'll usually opt for something else.

My son has taken after me in this regard. He loves wearing sweatpants. (He calls them "soft pants.") He'll wear them to preschool, which is fine as he does a lot of running around. There are times when they're not appropriate, such as at synagogue -- and we'll ask him to wear nice pants, which aren't his first choice but he'll do anyway. And we're trying to ease him into jeans. Nice jeans, not ones with holes in the knees. Something a bit more presentable that he can wear and get used to when he starts kindergarten in the fall.

Yesterday we spent the afternoon at his new school for a "family fun day." They had a magician, a moon bounce, arts and crafts activities and more. It was a fun experience for all of us: we ran into friends from the community who were around. We shmoozed with some of the other parents who will have kids in the same kindergarten class. In fact, one of my housemates from college is sending her youngest son to kindergarten there next year. They're excited that they'll know one another. How the teachers will cope with these two adorable, yet hyper little monsters in the same class? Only time will tell... But anyway -- it was a jeans day. We got him dressed, and socKs helped him with the clasp of his jeans. Simple as that. He doesn't wear them too often, and we needed to get going. He did mention a concern that if he had to go to the bathroom he might need help re-snapping them, but we let it go.

After a successful afternoon at the school and picking up merchandise we found on Craigslist, we went home. He wanted to watch the Disney/Pixar "Cars" move for the hundredth time. So, while he went for a bathroom break, I got the DVD set up, fed the cat, and waited for him to finish.

He came out of the bathroom looking like he was about to burst into tears.

"I can't snap my jeans back up! I can't I can't I can't!"

And there he was -- trying to get the job done, just the way that Mommy had done for him. It dawned on me that we never had him snap the clasp of his jeans on his own -- he simply hadn't worn them that often. He's fine with his dress pants; he can navigate the button through the buttonhole just fine. But he didn't quite have the dexterity and experience to align the metal button to the fastener and apply the precise amount of pressure. The problem wasn't (as sometimes is the case with his dad) that the waist of the jeans was too small. there was plenty of room. It was just the way the button worked.

I wondered what I should do. Should I let it slide and tell him to put on different pants? The kid was getting really stressed out. Should I button the pants for him? Should I give him a tutorial by getting out of my sweats, putting my jeans back on, and showing him how it's done? Should I let him watch Cars unbuttoned?

I didn't have to decide. He made it very clear through the tears what he wanted. He wanted to do this himself. I offered my assistance and my advice to him ("Try zipping them up first." "Maybe if you stand by the mirror?") but he was having none of that. All the while, through sniffles and almost tears, there he was -- trying to snap his jeans.

The words coming out of his mouth struck a chord with me. "I'm no good at this! I'm never going to be able to button my jeans!" Wow. We consider ourselves to be proponents of positive parenting. We've gone out of our way to prevent ourselves from telling our kid that he can't do something (unless it's against the rules). I tried to spin this positively. "Maybe you feel like you can't do it, but that's because you're still new to it. Once you do it once, you'll get better at it. And then the next time? Even better than that."

I even told him that he would feel awesome when he actually got it to work. And I formed a cheering squad made up of his bear, his dog and his giraffe. I was steps away from spray painting my son's names on their chests and getting them football-stands inebriated.

He kept at it -- he still didn't want any help. He didn't want any encouragement from me. He wanted me to be quiet and just let him work at this.

Where did this seem so familiar?

My Dad loves his kids (and now -- his grandchildren) beyond anything else in the world. He and I had a tumultuous relationship when I was growing up because -- well, he was my Dad. He would do anything for me. He would find ways to offer help whether I wanted it or not. And sometimes I just wanted him to leave me the hell alone. And just figure it out by myself.

And that's what my own son wanted me to do.

Eight minutes later I heard that "click" of metal snapping into metal. He looked down. And then up. And then grinned. And then a bigger smile with that almost-sound of laughing. And when his animals started saying "Yay!" It was all out laughter. I gave him a big hug and we watched the movie.

I see those patterns between my relationship with my kid and my dad's relationship with his. I'll probably have a lot to which I can look forward: my kid lying to me about finishing his homework, not cleaning his room, and, in a fit of anger, kicking a hole in the wall of our house. Or plenty of other things to expect.

But at least now there's more of a chance he'll be doing it wearing jeans.