The Week the World Won
I have always been mostly naïve about the world; I suspect I’ve passed that onto my daughter.
The week just past was the one that every mother dreads. It was the week that my daughter, 6, came home crying because two “friends” competed for her attention on the bus. Both insisted on exclusivity. She was forced to choose, and both girls said that future of the friendship depended on her choice. My daughter, God bless her, suggested that everyone sit together. But the other two are suddenly, unexpectedly, mortal enemies, so nix. Then the bus aide ordered my daughter to sit, and she chose. The unchosen girl said, predictably, “I’m not your friend any more. You are mean.” My daughter cried. The other girl said, “I don’t care!”
For the first time, my daughter didn’t bound happily off the bus after school. She shuffled up the driveway, not even bothering to kick the brittle ice edges of the small snow piles on our lawn. I asked, “How was school today?” She burst into tears.
As I listened to her telling of the tale, I struggled mightily to push back my anger at the world. I calmly assured her that the episode would probably be forgotten by tomorrow and that real friends don’t put conditions on friendship or threaten to withhold it.
But it didn’t really matter. She was still sad. So was I. Her innocence destroyed on the elementary school bus. Now, she knows that people, even your friends, can let you down. They have power over your emotions and some aren’t afraid to use it. It’s not just mommy and daddy who set limits on you. It’s not just little brothers and little sisters that annoy and frustrate you with their unfair demands—and anyway, you don’t get to pick your family but you do pick your friends. Now she knows. Soon she’ll figure out that manipulation, secrecy, and knowledge are currency in this world. Soon she’ll forget how joyous it can be to just have a play pal. Then, she’ll spend her time wondering how to regain that simplicity.
A day or so later, my daughter told me that she didn’t like her hair up in a ponytail anymore. She needed to wear it down, she said. Needed? She never cared before about her looks or her clothes. I told her, gently, that clothing and hair are not things to be overly concerned about. How a person looks doesn’t matter so much as how they treat you. What matters is if you are a nice person. But as I said it, I’m sure it sounded so pat, so dry, so boring compared to who’s wearing what jeans, or who has the coolest barrette in the class.
I never gave a thought to my hair or my clothes until I was about 10 or 11—the end of the 5th grade or the beginning of the 6th. It began with my first pair of Gloria Vanderbilts (worn with white Keds, powdered daily with chalk erasers). I had a few of the more risqué Judy Blume books. I collected Tiger Beat magazine. I cursed constantly. I got into a low-intensity “war” over a boy—a war fought mainly through scribbled insults on bathrooms walls. I became a stupid, quasi-criminal, doing things like switching the price tags in the makeup store so I could buy eyeliner and eye shadow at a discount. My middle-school experience ended with all the girls in the class joining the IDU club (I Dislike Ursula) and taking an ad out in the yearbook.
Yup, they put an ad in the yearbook. It was all in code, of course, to get it past the stiffs and the censors that ran the school. But anyone—everyone—who mattered knew what was up.
I went a little bit off the rails that year. But, by the grace of God, my dance on the dark side was relatively brief. The following year, I got as far away as I could. I fled to a strict, all girls’ Catholic high school run by 70-year-old nuns on the opposite end of Staten Island. Things got better from there. Yet, it still pains me to think of how easily I was derailed. I had great parents, yet I was pretty awful.
I’d really like to spare my daughter from that feeling or guide her into it with some preparation. Yet I feel powerless. My experience came at age 11. Hers at age 6. The world is on fast forward. How do you keep up? I know that nobody gets through life without getting dinged. And, at a certain point, everyone learns that the world is full of “friends” who can and will play games with your emotions. But, come on, she’s not even 7!
It doesn’t seem right.
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Comments :
Dec '10
Re: The Week the World Won
Get used to it, Ursula, because it doesn't get any easier. (Not a brilliant or original insight, I know.) I still get sympathy pains when my daughter takes one of life's blows. And she's 21 and about to graduate college.
And these are just the ones I know about. As a dad I'm only allowed a certain limited entry into emotional girl world. Her mother gets the brunt of it. That's the way of the world.
Jun '10
Re: The Week the World Won
Getting over life's disappointments is part of growing up. Kids need to learn how to become emotionally self-sufficient adults. I've noticed that the women teachers at school spend a lot of time coddling damaged, little, kid egos. I guess it's part of the mothering instinct. My attitude is to let kids work it out for themselves. Especially with young boys, my advice is usually to "suck it up."
Jun '10
Re: The Week the World Won
The unasked question in this post that hangs over parents' heads, is how much of our children's lives is a matter of pure chance. Ursula writes of her flirtation with the dark side, was her return to normalcy a matter of luck, effort, or a combination of the two. Friends of mine, who are good caring people, and by any standard, including temperament, seem perfect parents, have a child who is a drug addict. I beg readers to spare me the argument that I am in no position to judge my friends' parenting assets for the simple reason that parents and the assets they bring to the project exist on a continuum that runs from bad to good. Along that continuum we all have seen good parents cursed with bad children and bad parents blessed with good kids. Yet, what none of us seem to accept is that much of what happens in life is random, the luck of the draw. We can't accept this for the same reason that conspiracy theories run amok in society; this because any explanation, even a crazy one, is better than no explanation.
Edited on Mar 6, 2011 at 12:28pmMay '10
Re: The Week the World Won
You got through it, Ursula; your kids will, too.
And this might be anecdotal, but I've noticed that those high school acquaintances who seemed to have challenge-free experiences back then are generally more dysfunctional as adults than those of us who had sporadically hard times.
Still, Funeral Guy's "sympathy pains" line is right on. Ah, parenthood.
May '10
Re: The Week the World Won
When faced with people who don't care about you as much as you care about them, you have two options: grow callous or grow strong.
You can't protect your children from pain, Ursula, but you can encourage them to treat other people right because it's right, rather than only to receive affection in return.
Dec '10
Re: The Week the World Won
Being a kid is tough. It always has been and seems to be getting thougher. Being a parent is no piece of cake either. It is sometimes painful to watch our children raise our grandchildren while we watch helplessly separated by time and experience.
It is some consolation offering hope of perspective that my grandparents felt the same way. "Going to hell in a handbasket" was the phrase we heard now and then. We can only do our best and hope the young ones make it to adulthood, and with luck, make is proud. They most often do.
Nov '10
Re: The Week the World Won
I was surprised at how young my daughter was when her first friendship dramas began--it started in third grade. The friendship triangle seems common, where she finds herself between two girls. From what I can tell, she is friendly and accepting.
I'm amazed at the level of crass manipulation she has experienced from several girls, two of whose mothers I know and perceive as conscientious parents. The unpleasantness doesn't seem to hurt her long-term, but it is draining and confusing when it goes on. We talk about what she can do or say to avoid being used as a pawn and reward such poor behavior.
Jul '10
Re: The Week the World Won
Ursula, the world didn't win. Winning means finality. Yer Child's Life and education is only beginning.
Feb '11
Re: The Week the World Won
Hi Ursula,
Ok, it's time to talk strategy. That keen observer of human nature, Miss Manners, gave this advice a few years ago to a 16 year old nerd who was being tormented by his peers. (The advice is applicable to people of all ages, even 6 year olds.) Want to be popular? Simply act like you don't care. There is nothing more attractive than appearing indifferent to the opinions of others. So while behaving according to your highest sense of right--we're talking 2nd grade ethics here-- never appear to seek the approval of your peers or to notice their disapproval. Without fail, you'll have them eating out of your hands in no time. I realize that telling a 6 year old to "fake it" is asking a lot, but hopefully you can convince her to test this theory...it will serve her well in later life!
Edited on Mar 6, 2011 at 9:12pm