Sticks and Stones

Henry finds a favorite stick every time we go outside. Sometimes it is short and stubby, sometimes long and skinny. Sometimes it is five sticks in one. Every once in a while, it still has pine needles on it. Sometimes the stick becomes his walking stick, other times his sword. Typically, though, it’s a tool to dig in the dirt or skewer dead leaves like shish-kebab.

Sadie has followed suit, but her preference is rocks. She’ll lug around a heavy rock that, from a toddler-perspective, could accurately be described as a boulder. Or, she’ll stuff her pockets with smooth and round stones, or metallic rocks that shine like baubles in the sun.

I have picture upon picture capturing their many finds. I like to look back and see all the discoveries they have made and think about why they were drawn to that particular stick, or stone. But yesterday, as we sat alongside the Salisbury Rail Trail and rolled rocks and sticks down one of the path-side promontories of stone to see whose rock could “win,” I got to thinking about something entirely different. It was an old saying I remember hearing as a child (probably sung in between rounds of “Red Rover," too): Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. I got to thinking about whether or not that statement was still true today, and about the impact of bullying. Before I get to that, though, I need to lay some groundwork with another Henry vignette.

Henry moves at his own pace, not because he’s necessarily meticulous (sometimes so), but because he is systematic. To achieve what he needs to achieve, he often (not always) has to follow an exact series of steps to do so. That means that on his way to breakfast in the morning, he is compelled to grab his purple car—the one that makes lots of noise when he drives it—and push it along the floor, on his hands and knees from the family room, to his place at the kitchen table, where he parks it, and is ready to eat. Before he crosses the street to get on the bus, he likes to kick the same dirt pile he kicks every morning and watch the dusty air puff up and land on his shoes. The processes he goes through bring him comfort, perhaps, or maybe they give him time to prepare his body and mind for a shift in activity. But they do slow him down a bit (let’s just say the morning routine is not my favorite part of the day). In his mind, though, he is going just as fast as he can—for Henry. I have to support that (why are we all in such a hurry anyway?!), but I also have to give him a dose of reality sometimes (because the world won’t always wait) and set a timer for him, for example, which is just one of the modifications we’ve become accustomed to at our house.

Unfortunately, this means he sometimes gets a little teasing at school. I remember one story he told with eyes full of tears about how a friend at school told him he’s “too slow” and he “holds up the line,” when walking back from lunch/gym class/art, etc. Henry explained to me in a defending voice that he was fast in line and that his friend was wrong (in essence, “Mom, I am doing my best!”). As a parent, I am just now beginning to try and interpret social situations that confuse or hurt him. A whole new layer of parenting is awakened when peers begin to express when they view someone or someone’s behavior as different from themselves or from the group. We suddenly become guides to understanding human nature, and I doubt any of us would claim to be an expert on that subject. All children will experience teasing situations and feelings whether or not they have been diagnosed with a developmental delay, ADHD or Autism. And every time we are privy to those situations and feelings, our hearts will hurt right along with theirs. I don’t have any definitive answers for it, because I know each situation will be unique and will therefore require a different pair of “kid gloves.”

For me, it’s about considering all the factors first: how Henry is feeling (angry, sad, frustrated, all of the above), his opinion of the situation, his opinion of the friend involved (does he consider them a “friend,” for example), what my objective brain tells me about the situation, and what my subjective emotions tell me. Not only that, but I need to consider things like context, like how he is understanding the language he has heard and how he’s processed the social cues that accompanied the language—to make sure he has “read” the message accurately. Finally, I need to balance the important notion of “standing up for yourself” with how to be compassionate (sometimes kids just say every thought they have, for instance, without intention to hurt). I am Henry’s mom, so if I err (and I will), I will err on the side of Henry and what’s best for him. At the same time, I want him to understand social situations and to give him tools to evaluate them before he allows them to affect his confidence. I’m grateful he shares things with me now, and that I can help dissect things for him. But that might not always be the case. And in some cases, neither of us will be able to validate why someone has opted to spread negativity.

With the way “bullying” has been amplified by technology, I think it’s a valid concern. I’m no professional. I’m no expert. But I know that the Internet, social networking and texting are a dangerous arsenal when it comes to bullying and teasing. Growing up is a challenge rife with emotion and hormonal ups and downs as it is—urges of all kinds are difficult to manage. When something like anger or jealousy arises now, though, it’s so easy to pick up the phone and text or pluck out a nasty status update on Facebook and get those feelings out, as opposed to taking cool down time or “sleeping on it,” and coming up with a better plan. That’s why parents today are faced with a supreme call to action. We need an arsenal of prevention that is stronger than technology. We need to pay more attention, give more attention, educate ourselves, and educate our children when it comes to bullying. I am generally soft-hearted when it comes to human nature—and having not encountered extreme bullying, other than through the media— my inclination is to figure out a way to provide love and security for my children and all the children in their circle, to build a sense of community and compassionate—even in the wake of difficult feelings or tricky social situations. I don’t know how to do that, but I know it will be in the forefront of my mind from now until my children are probably 30 years old. I can’t protect them from hurt feelings or the times when they will feel left out, or under-appreciated. Those are things every one of us will feel time and again throughout life. And they are natural. But I can parent to create compassion and teach advocacy for self and others who are being teased or bullied, and I can work to be part of something that encourages positive reaction and pro-action, and crisis management that is respectful, healthy and fair. I can help educate youth on the value of difference, instead of the fear of it. That’s all I know right now. My children are young, but I don’t think it’s too early to be thinking about this topic; because our children are older than we were at their age.

I am eager to watch the new documentary, “Bully,” and expand my knowledge of this problem. The film shows the dangerous side of bullying and how when it’s left unchecked or not taken seriously, becomes an epidemic and not just youthful indiscretion—and has lasting, harmful effects. I am a novice, but a novice who is prepared to take on the challenge and become an expert. You can check out the film site here: http://thebullyproject.com/.

For the record, Henry won the stone-rolling competition. And he congratulated Sadie on doing a good job.