Not Another Mean Kid

After I wrote my post "The Mean Kid" and got some great comments from Christie, I found myself thinking a lot about that kid and my reaction to him. I realized that since I've become a mother, my perspective has shifted from that I had when I was a counsellor working with troubled kids. I think Christie was right on the money when she said that the kid probably wanted desperately to interact with other kids and just didn't know how. And I was inspired by her mentioning that her husband, a teacher, would probably have introduced some structure by engaging the kids and others in a game.

When I ran a youth center in North Vancouver, I was pretty protective of the "mean kids". I tried to cater to the biggest trouble makers--the 12-year old girl who got into knife fights, the 11-year old boy who had already stolen a car and been detained by the police several times. Sometimes, parents would complain to me, saying that they didn't want their child exposed to these types of children. I empathized, but in the end, I erred on the side of letting those troubled kids in and watching them closely to make sure they weren't bullying others. I figured they needed a safe place to hang out, and that by trying to connect with them (which, I'll tell you, was not easy--they had defenses bigger than the Great Wall of China) maybe I could be one person who made a small difference to them. When people always treat you like you're "bad" and "mean", then it's easy to see yourself that way, and become that way.

So honestly, I felt a little ashamed with myself for my reaction to and labeling of "mean kid". It was a little--mean. It came straight from my protective mommy self, and not from the higher self in me that believes in the good in each person, especially children. Pretty much any kid who is behaving "badly" probably has something going on in his or her family, social life, or body/brain chemistry. Kids are, after all, a pretty powerless and marginalized group who depend on us adults for food, shelter, safety, guidance, role modeling, and love. When we see a kid or family who clearly is struggling, we shouldn't blame them, but try to understand.

As it turns out, the friendly universe gave me a chance to do better the other day at the playground. Just as we walked up to the play structure, a tomboyish looking girl poked her head through the bars. "Do you want to play with me? I'm five!" she shouted. Boodge stopped in his tracks and stared at her.

"He's two," I responded. "I'm sure he'd like to play with you." As Boodge entered the ramp to the play structure, she immediately chased him down and tried to grab him. He ran, but not fast enough, and then struggled and protested when she tried to hug him.

"Oh," I cautioned, "You know, he might get a bit scared if you try to chase him and grab him until he gets to know you a bit. Maybe just play with him without touching him at first."

But the girl was already angry. "Fine!" she shouted in Boodge's face, "Go away then! Get lost! GO! NOW!" He came down the ramp towards me and stood staring at her again. "LEAVE!" she shouted. "GO!" And she ran off to the slide.

Now, obviously, I didn't like having someone talk to my kid this way, and I felt my protective Mama popping up. I thought about Christie's initial comment, which was that she may pack up and leave. I felt like doing that. But I could see that there was something going on with this kid. I decided to hold out and see if I could engage her again, to ease her sense of rejection. At very least, maybe we could all play in peace.

I scanned the playground and saw two women sitting in the grass, and assumed they must be with her. Then I bent down next to the still frozen-in-place Boodge. "It's OK buddy," I said, "You don't have to go. Everyone can play here. Want to play ball?" I pulled out his ball and we began kicking it on the grass near the playground.

While we were doing this, the girl called out to the two women a few times to get their attention. "What! What do you want! WHAT!" answered one woman in a completely irritated, exasperated voice. It was the kind of tone I hear coming out of my own mouth when I'm tired and trying to meet one of my own needs and Boodge has been clinging and whining and demanding all day. The kind of tone that, when I am conscious of it, I take as a cue that I need help or a break, stat, or I am going to do or say something I regret.

The girl went over and I could hear snippets of conversation in which the older woman sounded very annoyed. Then two older boys came running up, and I could hear the woman say "See what your brother's have for you. And that's ALL you get! You can't have any more. That's all you're gonna get." Her tone was taunting and angry sounding. I wondered if she had had a very bad morning with this girl leading up to that moment.

The girl came back, spotted Boodge, and yelled at him again, "GO HOME! GO! LEAVE!". But this time her brother came behind her. "Sometimes she gets in bad moods for no reason," he said kindly.

"Well, I guess we all get that way sometimes." I said, loud enough for her to hear. A while later we were heading for the swings and she ran ahead of us. I put Boodge on one, and then at her request, helped her onto the other swing. I commented on how she was so much heavier than my son and it must be because she was so much older too, and this seemed to please her. Then I pushed them both and told her how Boodge probably liked to have someone to swing with.

Her brother came over to push her then. He was helpful to his sister and really friendly. He chatted with me about a bunch of things--that he got a DS for Christmas, that he had a brother two years older, that his uncle lived in town and he lived with his dad. He told me that the women on the grass were his auntie and grandmother, and that his mother, "Still lived in the USA." By then we were all friends and having fun. When the girl got off the swing, she asked if she could play with Boodge's ball. I said yes.

I probably should have asked Boodge or prepared him, because when he saw her pick it up he freaked out. "I want the ball, I want the ball!" He asked me to stop the swing and I picked him up and tried to explain to him that we were sharing the ball and he could play too, but he was getting louder in his protest. The women on the grass noticed and they yelled at her to give it back, and to come over there NOW!. I called out that it was OK and I had told her she could play with it, but they didn't hear me or didn't care.

From where I stood miserably with Boodge, I heard the angry tone coming from the women. I heard "You WILL learn," and then I saw one woman smack her on the back of the head. Her brother had gone over too, but then came back towards me. I said to him, "It's not her fault, he's just two and he is learning about sharing. I told her she could play with it."

"Yeah, but she lied and said it was her ball." he said, and shrugged his shoulders. He had a resigned look, and turned away from me. Boodge was screaming to go home. I felt frazzled and overwhelmed. So I told the boy I had enjoyed meeting him and to say goodbye to his sister for us, we were going home. And we left.

Again, I have mixed feelings about the interaction. I felt better about the way I reacted to the girl and I'm glad I got a chance to be kind to her. But I felt badly about the way things turned out, and wondered if I should have approached the caregivers to defend the girl a bit more. I can understand the impulse to lie when you are pretty sure you are about to get in trouble--even adults do that all the time. And I can understand that there is probably tremendous strain on that family, with three kids and a single dad. But I don't believe it is OK to hit a child. Or anyone, for that matter, unless I am defending myself or someone else.

At least when I was working with struggling families, I felt I was in a position to do something. Get to know the family and their situation, work with them on new strategies, comfort the child, offer supports to the parents. If the situation was really bad, I could report it. But as a mom at the playground, I feel stuck. I don't want to interfere, but I don't want to leave it alone. I have had colleagues that would have pulled out their cell phones and immediately reported that incident. But I felt I knew far too little about the family to make such a drastic call, and I know too much about the system they would be reported to be sure it would be helpful.

I'm still searching for a way to handle these situations that allows me to walk away feeling at peace. But even as I write that sentence, I realize that's unlikely. Even as a professional I felt deeply uneasy and sometimes helpless in the face of the strains some families were facing, and the effects of abuse and neglect on children. The problems often go back generations, and will take a lifetime of hard work to undo. There's just not enough affordable support out there to help struggling children and their caregivers, and often not enough closeness in our communities to even be aware of the issues. There is no simple answer.

But the only way to create community is to connect. This time, I pushed past my initial reaction to the child and found a connection. Maybe next time, I'll find the courage to push past my uneasiness in approaching the parent, and see if I can make a connection that doesn't leave them feeling judged or threatened. Or should I just leave it be, and wait until I'm working again or at least in a situation where a relationship is already established. What would you out there in the inter-world do?