hate
November 22, 2011 § 1 Comment
It is a little word that settles between actions, intentions, innuendo, and speech. Hateful words seep into the cracks of self-doubt, insecurity, unhappiness and push forcefully against the strength of self-esteem. My husband and I build invisible walls of self-respect around our children and then watch mindfully for signs of stress, tiny cracks in the mortar.
Yesterday a group of children used hateful words, pelting them against my son’s esteem like chunks of rock against brick leaving scars against his spirit. He knew the words were false, but the harm could not be undone. My husband and I set aside our sadness and anger, meeting our son’s confusion and hurt with honesty and truth. The words were unacceptable, inappropriate, ugly, and hurtful. We named the pain and then nurtured the wound, gathering our son close and listening while he processed the harm in a place of strength. He measured his worth and named the unkindness, marking the moment as an ugliness centered in others; his self-esteem greater than the weight of another’s words.
I will not dwell on my grief, but I will acknowledge the sadness I could not shake. It followed me intimately shadowing my movements and filling up my light with darkness. I let it sit inside my voice when I called the school and spoke to teachers; sharing the burden of responsibility, gathering witnesses to that unseen, holding each of us within my son’s days accountable for this invisible scar to his spirit.
a question
March 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
In an empty classroom, with only a teacher and myself as witnesses, my son approached a classmate and inquired, “Why do you treat me differently when other people are around?” There was no anger in his tone, but confusion and hurt in his large, unblinking eyes. Looking at the boys I touched my son’s shoulder and stepped just outside the room giving him a moment to receive whatever answer the boy offered; my absence inviting honesty in a neutral space.
This is a familiar heartache; my son seeking acknowledgment among his peers. I recall a moment when he was younger; smiling and eager he raced toward his Kindergarten classmates, a tangle of arms dramatically high fiving. My son reached the boys, arm raised overhead, only to be greeted by their backs. Confused, he lifted one boy’s arm high demonstrating the greeting they saved for one another, but could not share with him. The boy’s arm fell heavily to his side and my son’s smile fell from his face. As his classmates poured into the school, my son remained rooted to the sidewalk, head down. I waited beside him, until he was ready to look up. It was my son’s first rejection, a moment of childhood unkindness that could no more be explained than it could be erased.
Years later, pausing at the threshold of another classroom, I held my breath and waited perched to protect. Seconds felt like an eternity and then my son, standing tall and serene emerged. As we walked to my car, I turned to my son and asked if he wanted to share the child’s answer with me. He shrugged slightly and told me the boy said he “didn’t know why”. There was no clear explanation, but there was something more: self-respect. My son in the sub-context of a sole question sought honesty and fairness.
I stepped to the side and my son stepped forward; each of us trusting he was strong enough to embrace a challenge and accept the outcome. I offered him faith and gave me a beautiful reason to believe. We cannot make everyone like us, but we can insist others treat us with respect.
scribblechic 