I like to think that I am raising compassionate boys. Boys with a conscience. I know this is a work in progress and that there may very well be many stumbles along their way to becoming men. Yesterday my super six year stumbled a little, in a very big way. And I was surprised by my reaction.
When I stepped into my son's summer program classroom last night his teacher pulled me aside and said, "Matthew has homework to do tonight." Homework? It's summer! I immediately thought, "Uh oh, this can't be good." And turns out, it wasn't.
Even though the teacher and my super six year seem to have differing opinions on what exactly went down yesterday afternoon one thing seems to be true: my young son allowed himself to get sucked into the type of mob mentality that can really hurt someone. He may, or may not, have participated in a game of keep away involving a ball and a developmentally challenged classmate. Cue huge sigh here. My sweet, compassionate, loving boy purposely threw a ball over the head of a young friend who couldn't get it back? Oh no no no no. No!
I walked to the car with my boys, all of us quiet. Every so often the persevering preschooler actually interprets the situation at hand correctly. This was one of those times. He held onto my hand as we left the building, looking back and forth from his older brother to me, his eyes questioning. I loaded everyone into the car and climbed into the front seat. After asking my son for his version of the event I took a deep breath and put on my "teaching moment" hat. "How do you think the other boy felt?" "How would you have felt?" "What would have happened if you had stopped the game and given the boy his ball back?" "How would that have made the boy feel?" "How would that have made YOU feel?"
My sullen little guy answered each question as I would have expected. As I listened to him tell me that he would be sad if that happened to him, I felt tears in my eyes. It could happen to him. It probably will one day. Not because he is delayed. No. Because his eyes are different than his friends. Because his little nose is smushed in. Because different, any kind of different, is fodder for cruelty.
Suddenly I asked my oldest son, "What would you do if you saw someone treating your brother badly?" His answer surprised me a little. "I would stand next to Alex and tell that other boy to leave him alone. And then I would take Alex's hand and walk away to the other side of the playground." Wow, that was, uh, specific. "Has that ever happened?" "Yes." Suddenly my earlier question of "How do you think that other boy's mom will feel when she finds out how her son was treated today?" became "How would I feel?" Overcome. That is how I felt. Overcome with sadness that my young son had already been bullied for being different. Even if has only happened that one time, it happened. And also overcome with a little joy that my boy made the right choice when trouble faced his family.
We talked more on that drive home. About how doing the right thing is not always easy. About how the other boys being mean might be mean to my son when he takes a stand. About how that stand needs taken despite this. About how this will one day happen to him, because it happens to everyone at least once.
"Why are you crying Mommy?", he asked me. I explained that I want both of my boys to be happy and comfortable and that the thought of another child picking on one of my boys made me very sad. "Do you think the boy from school- do you think his mom is crying tonight?" Yes, honey. Yes I do.
When we got home my super six year sat down at the kitchen table to write his letter of apology to the boy's mother. (His homework) He said he was sorry, and that he won't do it again. Then he added this: I will never let this happen again. Never. Again.
Wow. With no help from me, except for spelling a few words, this is what he wrote. Never. Again. I let my young son see my raw emotions, I let him into my fear of how his younger brother's life might turn out, and I let him see me fall apart. And he learned.
Showing posts with label bullying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bullying. Show all posts
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
From Birth Mothers to Bullying- the boy is doing just fine
"Daddy is not answering his phone.", I said to my super six year old, as we sat snuggled together in the restaurant booth, waiting for our dinners to arrive. "Keep calling, Mommy. You must persevere!" Persevere? My super six year knows the word "persevere"? After grilling him for the definition, it turns out, he does.
Learning that my oldest son has a vocabulary even larger than I thought was not the only thing I learned yesterday. Apparently my young man knows this word because it is one of the awards given out monthly in Chapel in his school. I just found out about these awards last week and am still a little sketchy on them. I hear there is an award for "Honesty", and now one for "Perseverance". What I do know is that my guy has not been awarded one of these yet, and he really, really, really wants one. At his age, and knowing his temperament, I doubt he wants one for the meaning behind it as much as for the idea of "winning". My super six year old loves to win. But what a great thing to win at, right? I learned about this at 7:00pm last night, after spending the entire day playing at COSI.
The morning started with a trip to the pediatrician for my son's six year old well check up. There I learned something I had been suspecting for quite a while. My young son can act calmly in that doctor's office. I was beginning to wonder. He questioned the nurse, "Am I going to get any shots today?" She wasn't sure. He questioned the doctor, who confirmed that, no, he would not be getting any shots. He had been questioning me for two days. He immediately stopped wiggling and grabbing for items in the drawers under the exam table. He let his strong body melt into the table, stretched out long, and began to play his DS while he sang to himself. (Smashmouth!) I could actually talk to the doctor! I could think about my answers! I could stop being that frazzled mother who has to keep one eye, and both hands, on her child at all times! Yesterday morning I learned that when my son has the information he needs he can be a calm little guy. And yes, I already knew this, but it was a great reminder.
I learned that my super six year is maturing in ways that make me proud. While we waited for nearly two hours to get into COSI - ALWAYS BUY YOUR TICKETS ONLINE DURING SPRING BREAK PEOPLE!- I allowed my boy to wander off to the nearby hands on exhibits. I could always see him, and he came back to me every time I called his name. "Such a patient boy you have there!", exclaimed a grandmother waiting in line behind me. "Not usually", I thought. But maybe, just maybe, he is learning this. Patient and a good listener. Who knew.
I watched my son share the small rubber balls in one of the Space exhibits with a little girl. He had watched her be denied a ball by the boy on the other side of the exhibit and when she showed up at his side he didn't need me to remind him to be a gentleman. He willingly gave her a ball. And when the little boy on the other side tried to take it back, my young man grabbed it first, saying, "This ball is hers", and handed it to the girl. He shared, and more importantly, he stood up for what he knew to be right. He did not let that little boy do what stands for bullying in the kindergarten set. And I learned that my super six year old is on his way to becoming a man.
I learned that my guy knows A LOT about space. He had his facts right and was able to hold a conversation with a much older boy about planets while waiting in line to see the space capsule. He taught a younger girl about how the earth moves around the sun, using his hands and a ball to further explain. He is an educator, this boy.
I watched my super six year old take command of a group of children, both older and younger than he, to run the mini land rover and cranes. He gave direction to everyone, making sure every child knew their instructions before starting the mission. He is a leader, this boy.
We played together in the Ocean exhibit, my son showing me how to place the water stream just right so that it would intersect with his. His little engineering mind figured out where to place all of the water streams so that all five of them intersected. It was late in the day and we had the exhibit all to ourselves, so he had the time to really figure this out. I learned how single minded my son can be. He wasn't leaving the exhibit until he had those streams of water precisely where he wanted them.
I watched my boy play a game of checkers in the outside play area, with checker pieces bigger than his head. He bounced around the giant sized playing board, pondering his choices and making his moves. I had warned the older girl he was playing with that he may not know how to play; turns out I didn't need to do that. Sometime between the last time I played with him and yesterday he learned the rules of the game. I learned that my son frequently plays checkers with his friends at his after school program. Once again I was reminded that my super six year old has a whole life I know very little about. Again I was reminded of the importance of cementing this relationship early on in life so he will be sure to include me in his life as he grows. Just imagining what parts of his life I may not know about when he is a teenager makes me shudder!
I learned that my son is outgoing. Which, of course, I already knew. But this boy is confident. I watched as he realized he didn't have a partner for a game he wanted to play and with just a tiny nudge from me he asked the girl next to him if she would like to be his partner. There was no fear that this older girl would deny him his request. He was confident that he would not be shot down. I also learned where his head is about his birth country. He is currently in a phase where he is very proud to be Chinese. The girl he asked to play this game was also Chinese. While the girl won the game, the two of them had a very high score- higher than the other kids who had gone before them. When I pointed this out to my son he exclaimed, loudly, that it was because both he and his partner were Chinese. The girl's Chinese father hid a smile when this was pronounced. OK, still doing good with the birth country thing.
I learned that my super six year old is still not ready to discuss his birth mother. He was very interested in the display of fetus', looking at each month of pregnancy with great care. He was amazed when he realized how very small he started out. I was cautious to use the correct terms and to make sure he understood that when he was a fetus he was in his birth mother's tummy, not mine. We spent a lot of time in this exhibit but it wasn't his time to ask these questions, not yet.
I learned that my boy is all boy. He spent quite some time playing the "bodily function" organ, where each key he pressed gave us a loud sneeze, hungry rumblings, or a cough. The "vomit" key was his favorite. So much, in fact, that he continued to make the disgusting sound long after we left the exhibit.
As we finally left the museum, eight hours after arriving, we walked slowly to the car. We had parked in the farthest lot from the door, and on the way in my boy had bounced along and run ahead numerous times. Now, on the way out, he was lagging behind, his little legs tired. Despite my equally tired legs I picked up my 45 pound six year old and carried him to the car. He rested his head on my shoulder and ran his fingers up and down my back, enjoying the feel of the fabric of my coat. "I think my legs are broken.", he mumbled in my ear. I hugged him as we slowly made our way to the car. I learned that my big six year old, the one who acted as a leader, a teacher, a protector, was still also a little boy. My little boy.
I don't often have the chance to spend an entire day, uninterrupted, with just one of my boys. We went to the museum because my son asked to go, and because it is such a great educational opportunity for him. But all those hours, alone with my oldest son, were educational for me as well. A reminder to sometimes pause and take a moment. A moment to appreciate the growth. A moment to ponder the amazing creature before you. A moment to play like a child, with your child. And a moment to carry your child in your arms again.
Learning that my oldest son has a vocabulary even larger than I thought was not the only thing I learned yesterday. Apparently my young man knows this word because it is one of the awards given out monthly in Chapel in his school. I just found out about these awards last week and am still a little sketchy on them. I hear there is an award for "Honesty", and now one for "Perseverance". What I do know is that my guy has not been awarded one of these yet, and he really, really, really wants one. At his age, and knowing his temperament, I doubt he wants one for the meaning behind it as much as for the idea of "winning". My super six year old loves to win. But what a great thing to win at, right? I learned about this at 7:00pm last night, after spending the entire day playing at COSI.
The morning started with a trip to the pediatrician for my son's six year old well check up. There I learned something I had been suspecting for quite a while. My young son can act calmly in that doctor's office. I was beginning to wonder. He questioned the nurse, "Am I going to get any shots today?" She wasn't sure. He questioned the doctor, who confirmed that, no, he would not be getting any shots. He had been questioning me for two days. He immediately stopped wiggling and grabbing for items in the drawers under the exam table. He let his strong body melt into the table, stretched out long, and began to play his DS while he sang to himself. (Smashmouth!) I could actually talk to the doctor! I could think about my answers! I could stop being that frazzled mother who has to keep one eye, and both hands, on her child at all times! Yesterday morning I learned that when my son has the information he needs he can be a calm little guy. And yes, I already knew this, but it was a great reminder.
I learned that my super six year is maturing in ways that make me proud. While we waited for nearly two hours to get into COSI - ALWAYS BUY YOUR TICKETS ONLINE DURING SPRING BREAK PEOPLE!- I allowed my boy to wander off to the nearby hands on exhibits. I could always see him, and he came back to me every time I called his name. "Such a patient boy you have there!", exclaimed a grandmother waiting in line behind me. "Not usually", I thought. But maybe, just maybe, he is learning this. Patient and a good listener. Who knew.
I watched my son share the small rubber balls in one of the Space exhibits with a little girl. He had watched her be denied a ball by the boy on the other side of the exhibit and when she showed up at his side he didn't need me to remind him to be a gentleman. He willingly gave her a ball. And when the little boy on the other side tried to take it back, my young man grabbed it first, saying, "This ball is hers", and handed it to the girl. He shared, and more importantly, he stood up for what he knew to be right. He did not let that little boy do what stands for bullying in the kindergarten set. And I learned that my super six year old is on his way to becoming a man.
I learned that my guy knows A LOT about space. He had his facts right and was able to hold a conversation with a much older boy about planets while waiting in line to see the space capsule. He taught a younger girl about how the earth moves around the sun, using his hands and a ball to further explain. He is an educator, this boy.
I watched my super six year old take command of a group of children, both older and younger than he, to run the mini land rover and cranes. He gave direction to everyone, making sure every child knew their instructions before starting the mission. He is a leader, this boy.
We played together in the Ocean exhibit, my son showing me how to place the water stream just right so that it would intersect with his. His little engineering mind figured out where to place all of the water streams so that all five of them intersected. It was late in the day and we had the exhibit all to ourselves, so he had the time to really figure this out. I learned how single minded my son can be. He wasn't leaving the exhibit until he had those streams of water precisely where he wanted them.
I watched my boy play a game of checkers in the outside play area, with checker pieces bigger than his head. He bounced around the giant sized playing board, pondering his choices and making his moves. I had warned the older girl he was playing with that he may not know how to play; turns out I didn't need to do that. Sometime between the last time I played with him and yesterday he learned the rules of the game. I learned that my son frequently plays checkers with his friends at his after school program. Once again I was reminded that my super six year old has a whole life I know very little about. Again I was reminded of the importance of cementing this relationship early on in life so he will be sure to include me in his life as he grows. Just imagining what parts of his life I may not know about when he is a teenager makes me shudder!
I learned that my son is outgoing. Which, of course, I already knew. But this boy is confident. I watched as he realized he didn't have a partner for a game he wanted to play and with just a tiny nudge from me he asked the girl next to him if she would like to be his partner. There was no fear that this older girl would deny him his request. He was confident that he would not be shot down. I also learned where his head is about his birth country. He is currently in a phase where he is very proud to be Chinese. The girl he asked to play this game was also Chinese. While the girl won the game, the two of them had a very high score- higher than the other kids who had gone before them. When I pointed this out to my son he exclaimed, loudly, that it was because both he and his partner were Chinese. The girl's Chinese father hid a smile when this was pronounced. OK, still doing good with the birth country thing.
I learned that my super six year old is still not ready to discuss his birth mother. He was very interested in the display of fetus', looking at each month of pregnancy with great care. He was amazed when he realized how very small he started out. I was cautious to use the correct terms and to make sure he understood that when he was a fetus he was in his birth mother's tummy, not mine. We spent a lot of time in this exhibit but it wasn't his time to ask these questions, not yet.
I learned that my boy is all boy. He spent quite some time playing the "bodily function" organ, where each key he pressed gave us a loud sneeze, hungry rumblings, or a cough. The "vomit" key was his favorite. So much, in fact, that he continued to make the disgusting sound long after we left the exhibit.
As we finally left the museum, eight hours after arriving, we walked slowly to the car. We had parked in the farthest lot from the door, and on the way in my boy had bounced along and run ahead numerous times. Now, on the way out, he was lagging behind, his little legs tired. Despite my equally tired legs I picked up my 45 pound six year old and carried him to the car. He rested his head on my shoulder and ran his fingers up and down my back, enjoying the feel of the fabric of my coat. "I think my legs are broken.", he mumbled in my ear. I hugged him as we slowly made our way to the car. I learned that my big six year old, the one who acted as a leader, a teacher, a protector, was still also a little boy. My little boy.
I don't often have the chance to spend an entire day, uninterrupted, with just one of my boys. We went to the museum because my son asked to go, and because it is such a great educational opportunity for him. But all those hours, alone with my oldest son, were educational for me as well. A reminder to sometimes pause and take a moment. A moment to appreciate the growth. A moment to ponder the amazing creature before you. A moment to play like a child, with your child. And a moment to carry your child in your arms again.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
it's a lot of responsibility, this parenting gig
The other day I received a very thoughtful card in the mail from my mother in law. She had remembered that one year ago today, around this time, we were burying my mother. She sent me a thinking of you card, in which she wrote that she was happy that I was a part of her family. It was, by far, the single nicest thing that anyone had done for me in a while.
I was still thinking about this thoughtful gesture when I picked up my boys from daycare/preschool that afternoon. On the way out of the church I told my son about the card I had received from his grandmother and I asked him if knew what Grandma had been feeling when she sent it to me. We talked about compassion and empathy. Later that evening at the dinner table I asked my big four and a half year old if he could tell Daddy what feeling Grandma had when she sent me the card. He couldn't. But he could say that Grandma was thinking about Mommy and that it made Mommy feel good. I'll take it.
I talk to my boys a lot about what we are feeling. And about what other people are feeling. And about our role in what others are feeling. I believe that understanding how we feel and how our actions impact how others feel is the foundation for raising compassionate, caring, and loving boys. I believe that boys need to be allowed to be boys- to run and jump and lay on the sidewalk looking at bugs. I want my boys to climb trees and play football and get dirty. But I also want them to appreciate music and feel the power and satisfaction of creating music. I want them to read and be able to appreciate, if not like, art. I want them to be well rounded. And that includes compassion.
The same day that I received the thoughtful message from my mother in law a friend of mine posted on facebook a status update about bullying in elementary school. A discussion ensued and one theme was prominent ~ none of us really remember kids being mean to each other when we were in elementary school. And it got me thinking. This is why I want my boys to understand compassion and empathy. I know there is a fine line between raising confident boys and raising bullies.
I also know that I have sons who may one day be the target of a bully. My big four and a half year old has a crooked little nose that is pushed in one side, a casualty of his cleft lip and palate. One day it will be repaired. But he has already come home from preschool asking why his nose is different that his friends'. The jump from 4 year old friends innocently asking him why his nose is different to a 5 year old bully mocking him for it is not a huge leap.
I know both my boys might one day face a pint size accuser calling them out on their heritage or on the fact that their mommy isn't "real". There is a real chance that my boys might be bullied. I also am not so unaware as to assume that my boys won't ever be the bully. Which is why now, when I see the chance to teach them about compassion, I seize it.
Last week when I picked up my big four and a half year old from school he and his friends were running races in the gym. My little guy is fast. He might not have noticed how his winning every footrace was making one of his friends sad, but I did. When we got to the car I asked if he had noticed. (He hadn't.) I asked if he could think of something he could do to make his friend feel better. (he couldn't.) We then brainstormed about skills his friend has that he could compliment. We came up with one, and he promised to try to remember to mention it the next day. Who knows if he did or not, but at least he thought about it. At least, for a few minutes during our car ride home, he thought about how when he wins, which is awesome, someone else loses, which is not so awesome for them. At least, for a minute, he thought about how he could make someone else feel better about themselves.
It's a start. It's a lot of responsibility, this parenting gig. I don't want my boys to be bullied as they navigate the already difficult world of growing up. But I don't want them to be the bully either. I want them to be confident and strong. But not so strong that they are hateful. I want so many things for my boys that it sometimes overwhelms me. The good news is that I am in control of at least a little part of their destiny. I believe the end of bullying starts at home. By teaching, and sharing, and talking, and living my words every day. Even the two year old knows how to say he is sorry. And I know when I first started making him say it when he hit his brother or threw something at my head that he had no clue what it meant. But now he says it while gently rubbing my arm, or while giving his older brother a little hug. Now he knows what it means to be sorry- he knows that he hurt someone and he has to make it right. And that is a good first step.
I was still thinking about this thoughtful gesture when I picked up my boys from daycare/preschool that afternoon. On the way out of the church I told my son about the card I had received from his grandmother and I asked him if knew what Grandma had been feeling when she sent it to me. We talked about compassion and empathy. Later that evening at the dinner table I asked my big four and a half year old if he could tell Daddy what feeling Grandma had when she sent me the card. He couldn't. But he could say that Grandma was thinking about Mommy and that it made Mommy feel good. I'll take it.
I talk to my boys a lot about what we are feeling. And about what other people are feeling. And about our role in what others are feeling. I believe that understanding how we feel and how our actions impact how others feel is the foundation for raising compassionate, caring, and loving boys. I believe that boys need to be allowed to be boys- to run and jump and lay on the sidewalk looking at bugs. I want my boys to climb trees and play football and get dirty. But I also want them to appreciate music and feel the power and satisfaction of creating music. I want them to read and be able to appreciate, if not like, art. I want them to be well rounded. And that includes compassion.
The same day that I received the thoughtful message from my mother in law a friend of mine posted on facebook a status update about bullying in elementary school. A discussion ensued and one theme was prominent ~ none of us really remember kids being mean to each other when we were in elementary school. And it got me thinking. This is why I want my boys to understand compassion and empathy. I know there is a fine line between raising confident boys and raising bullies.
I also know that I have sons who may one day be the target of a bully. My big four and a half year old has a crooked little nose that is pushed in one side, a casualty of his cleft lip and palate. One day it will be repaired. But he has already come home from preschool asking why his nose is different that his friends'. The jump from 4 year old friends innocently asking him why his nose is different to a 5 year old bully mocking him for it is not a huge leap.
I know both my boys might one day face a pint size accuser calling them out on their heritage or on the fact that their mommy isn't "real". There is a real chance that my boys might be bullied. I also am not so unaware as to assume that my boys won't ever be the bully. Which is why now, when I see the chance to teach them about compassion, I seize it.
Last week when I picked up my big four and a half year old from school he and his friends were running races in the gym. My little guy is fast. He might not have noticed how his winning every footrace was making one of his friends sad, but I did. When we got to the car I asked if he had noticed. (He hadn't.) I asked if he could think of something he could do to make his friend feel better. (he couldn't.) We then brainstormed about skills his friend has that he could compliment. We came up with one, and he promised to try to remember to mention it the next day. Who knows if he did or not, but at least he thought about it. At least, for a few minutes during our car ride home, he thought about how when he wins, which is awesome, someone else loses, which is not so awesome for them. At least, for a minute, he thought about how he could make someone else feel better about themselves.
It's a start. It's a lot of responsibility, this parenting gig. I don't want my boys to be bullied as they navigate the already difficult world of growing up. But I don't want them to be the bully either. I want them to be confident and strong. But not so strong that they are hateful. I want so many things for my boys that it sometimes overwhelms me. The good news is that I am in control of at least a little part of their destiny. I believe the end of bullying starts at home. By teaching, and sharing, and talking, and living my words every day. Even the two year old knows how to say he is sorry. And I know when I first started making him say it when he hit his brother or threw something at my head that he had no clue what it meant. But now he says it while gently rubbing my arm, or while giving his older brother a little hug. Now he knows what it means to be sorry- he knows that he hurt someone and he has to make it right. And that is a good first step.
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