It seems harmless. It's only words. Simple words like, "I hate you!", "Get lost!", "You're Stupid!", "Nobody likes you!", "Let's take a vote to see if we want her to play with us today.", "You are the worst player on the team!" (someone told her that on her soccer team this year...she wanted to quit). But it isn't "just words", it becomes her world, her reality created in language, as it is for all of us. These words shape our thoughts, the conversation in our heads that tell us who we are, create our insecurities, our fears. These simple words create a world of isolation. Next to death, isolation is the worst punishment you can inflict upon a human being. The common thread of kids who kill themselves or commit violent crime is "He was a loner, he kept to himself." It should read, "He was rejected by society and sentenced to a life of isolation." Most likely, he was bullied, often just with words.
I convinced myself (and tried to also convince my daughter) that fifth grade would be better. It's just a "phase" right? And inherent in the understanding of a "phase" is it's short term nature. Unfortunately, this appears to be a protracted phase in the lives of our children and sadly, one we continue to act out in adulthood as either perpetually wounded victims or callous bullies.
It started right where it left off at the end of fourth grade and also spread to her soccer team. Somehow there was an awareness that she was a safe target. Meaning, anyone could bully her, try it out, and not risk retaliation or consequences. Even girls who the previous year I was fairly certain were excluded themselves, began to turn on her. It was a bizarre case of "scapegoating" where they would pin all of their failures as a team upon her. Each would confidently tell her what she did wrong "Nice pass!" (sarcastic, eye-rolling), pushing her physically into position "You are supposed to go here!" (they don't do that to any other girl on the team), criticizing, out loud, every mistake she makes (one girl having missed a shot on goal, then turned to my daughter and yelled, "Pass the ball (says her name)!!" (even though her last contact on the ball was 5 touches ago). They yell at her "Stop laughing and focus!!" "I don't like your clothes!" "I'm going to play that position, you go over there!"
I sat back and watched practice one day, really watched, as objectively as I could. And I could see it. It was obvious. She was the go-to-girl for all of their frustrations the target of their criticism. They could all make her a worse player then each of them and therefore make themselves feel better. I said to one parent sitting with me, "I am at a complete loss as to why these girls hate my daughter!" I spoke with the coach, in general terms, asking if he could discuss team building with the girls, that they should support each other, rather than criticize or belittle each other. I explained I had noted they were doing that to each other and he replied, "Really? I hadn't noticed that!" I thought, he must be deaf and blind, because as I sit here, I see it, I see it all! He glazed over with the look I have grown to recognize from someone who would rather not deal with this. I am dismissed as an overprotective parent, the problem, and won't I just please go away?
She LOVES soccer, and began to beg us not to go, to please let her quit. I would watch her shut down, go limp, stop trying, retreat. I would have to convince her, coax her into going. I forced her to go to a place that hurt and demeaned her. Was that the right thing to do? Running away has not felt like the right answer. She needs to develop the tools to handle this foreign world of meanness, because sadly, she will be exposed to it for the rest of her life.
Two weeks ago, she was hit at school. Slapped across the face, hard, by a fifth grade BOY! My daughter walked by as the ringleader was kneeling on the back of this boy, pinning him to the ground, exclaiming, "Everyone bow down to me!" My daughter sarcastically replied, "Yeah, everyone bow down to you!" The boy leaped up and said, "This is for saying that!" And slapped her as hard as he could across the face. Realizing his mistake, he began to run away. Upset and enraged, my daughter chased him. He tripped, and she pounced on his back, punching him "five times as hard as I could!" He cried. The ringleader ran up and said to my daughter "You don't have to be so mean! He didn't mean to hit you that hard!" (WTF, right???)
She guiltily told me this story at home. Ready to apologize for her actions. I stopped her, and held out my hand for a hi-five. I said, Guess what will never happen again? She asked, "What?" I told her, He will never hit you again.
The more I thought of this, the more it effected me. How little must these children think of my daughter for a BOY to hit her? How far could this go? How embarrassed and hurt she must have felt after he hit her! That night I lost it. I cried. I broke things, hurling them against the wall. I huddled in a ball and wept for the destruction of my daughter. I cried for all of her pain. I cried in hopelessness and anger. What should I do??? Was I doing the right thing or was I allowing my daughter to be damaged in an irreversible way?
We met with the principle. He called their parents. The kids met with the principle. They apologized. (I never heard a word from his parents by the way.) The end. But not really...just, Until the Next Time. I am now paying $120.00 an hour for counselling for my daughter. The goals of which are to build up her self esteem and confidence again,so that she can stand up for herself. (Thank you mean children, for this.) I've learned she is more afraid of hurting other's feelings than protecting her own. I've learned she is timid when expressing what SHE wants. It is fascinating, that she is victimized for caring!
At the beginning of fifth grade, each member of the class is assigned a "job", one they will do for the whole year. The coveted job is "Teacher's Pet" (not your context, so take that away) where at the end of the day, kids assist the teacher with some random chore. My daughter was assigned this job and was thrilled. A boy (ironically, the one who would hit her several months later) cried. He had wanted that job, and had been assigned the least desirable job of "Floor" (an end of the day picking up of the classroom floor). Worried for his feelings, and I am sure, hoping to win his friendship, my daughter gave him "Teacher's Pet", and took the "Floor".
I learned of this recently one night, as we ended the day, before bed. She was sharing her daily schedule with me, ending with her job, "Floor". I asked her about that job, and she burst out crying. "I hate floor!", she cried. "I had the best job, and I gave it away!". I prodded her some, asking her if she thought that by giving the job away she had hoped that this boy would be nicer to her, a better friend. This incited her to more passionate crying, "He didn't even say Thank you! He didn't invite me to his birthday party! And now I am stuck with "Floor" for the rest of the year!"
I asked her why she had thought that his feelings about the job had been more important than hers? She could only reply, "He was sad. He cried!" My cynical mind imagined this clever fellow understanding how to manipulate her to get the job from her. After about twenty minutes, I calmed her down, and told her that it was okay to put her feelings first, and that she had gotten the job fairly, and could have kept it without worrying about how upset this might have made him.
It was then I had an idea. What if I could change the context of the job? What if I could turn "Floor" into the coolest job in the classroom? What if I bought an awesome, cool, vacuum? I got permission from the teacher. I went shopping and found a super-cool, bright orange, metallic Electrolux complete with a detachable dust buster. I then donated it to the fifth grade, "Floor" job. It worked like a charm.
The boy who slapped her , immediately asked her if he could try it. She said, "No". (perhaps he'll consider being nicer to her?) Another boy asked if she would like to trade jobs. She said, "No thank you." She beams with pleasure speaking of her job. "Floor is the coolest job!" she gushes happily. I asked her how it had felt to say no to someone who wanted her job? She said, "It feels fine." I reminded her that it was okay to keep this job, and honor her feelings. She commented in a moment of happiness (ever increasing moments I am happy to report), that "life had seemed so bad a short time ago, but it had gotten better, and I guess that is what life does."
I sure hope so my love.
