Throwing in the towel, picking it up again
November 30th, 2005
I dropped Sophie off at preschool the other day. She headed happily for a group of three classmates, all girls. One of them stepped forward, blocking the path.
“Only THREE people are allowed to play over here,” she announced loudly. The other two nodded vigorously, backing up their leader. None of them smiled at Sophie.
Sophie hesitated for a moment, then retreated, back to my side.
I tried to sound upbeat, although what I really wanted to do was clobber the trio of tiny Heathers-in-the-making with a nearby baby doll.
“There’s two other friends of yours over there. Why don’t you go play with them? I bet they’d love to play with you.”
Obediently, Sophie joined the other girls, who did seem happy enough to play with her. I was relieved and resisted the urge to hug this friendlier pair and call and thank their parents.
But Sophie was subdued now. I could see it. She had been cast out.
*****
We’ve been talking about friends a lot lately, me and Soph. I’ve probably been talking about it too much, always asking who she ate lunch with and who she played with on the playground and who she sat next to at Circle Time. (I know I’m supposed to write whom instead of all of those whos, but I can’t stand my own insufferable prissiness this week and am trying to be more approachable to myself, so you just have to accommodate that.)
A lot of the time, Sophie just says she doesn’t remember who she spent the day with. She remembers her cousin biting her when she was two, so I’m a little suspicious when she tells me she can’t remember the day’s events. But I try not to push.
Sometimes, though, she’s willing to talk. And it’s hard to hear what she has to say.
*****
One night at bedtime, we were talking about special friends and what that means.
“Having special friends makes me feel right at home,” she said.
“That’s great. I know what you mean,” I said.
Suddenly her little face was very sad.
“I don’t really play with anybody if my special friend’s not there. I wait until she comes back. Did you ever feel like that when you were a kid?”
“I think I did.” Of course I did. I still feel like that.
She glanced at me, as if testing the waters.
“Sometimes when she’s not there, I just throw in the towel.”
This floored me. “You throw in the towel?”
“Yes.”
“You know what that means?”
“Yes. It means you give up.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“From Annie.”
I tried to think of the best possible response. “You can maybe try to reach out to other people when she’s not there. No?”
“Everyone is already playing with everybody else.” She meant it, I could tell.
“But I’m sure they’d let you play with them too,” I said, though I wasn’t sure of this at all and immediately regretted saying it. I think we both thought she’d gotten lucky that morning at preschool, finding a new group to play with. Just luck.
She was silent.
I pressed on. “Maybe you could just say, ‘Hey, guys, I’m feeling kind of lonely today and I’d love to play with you, can I join in?’”
She looked at me like I was nuts. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because they might say no.”
“Well, maybe you don’t have to ask. Maybe you can just walk right up to them and join their game.”
Now we both knew I was nuts. We both knew neither one of us would ever be able to do such a thing. We didn’t know who was making up the ridiculous stuff coming out of my mouth, but whoever she was, she clearly didn’t know either of us, mother or daughter.
“Maybe,” was all Soph said. “Maybe.”
*****
Recently I had a conversation with an old friend, a friend who knows Sophie—and me—well. I told her I was worried because I often find Sophie playing by herself in the corner when I stop by her classroom. I told my friend that sometimes I also find Sophie alone on the playground at school, hiding out under the jungle gym, making wood chips talk to each other.
“I think that’s all great,” said my friend. “She doesn’t get pulled into things. She’s very self-motivated. She’ll be able to resist all kinds of peer pressure. It’s going to take her far in life. I really think so.”
“I just worry that she won’t be included, that she’ll always hang back on the sidelines. Kind of doing her own thing in her own world, while everyone else has their little posse of close friends who would miss them if they weren’t there. I worry. I really worry.”
“I’m not worried,” said my friend.
I thought about Sophie, asleep upstairs, just above my head from where I was sitting in our dining room.
“I don’t know why I’m so worried,” I said. “Considering I know exactly where she gets it from.”
My friend smiled. She has known me a long time.
*****
I have always envied the people who use the phrase “best friend.” It’s rarer to hear, now that we’re all older and seem to have pockets of equally good friends here and there around the globe, and husbands that we like to say are our best friends now. But occasionally, I still hear about the best-friend phenomenon.
For me, it’s like standing in the snow peeking through the window of a warm house. Inside, two people are toasting each other with cups of cocoa (To you! No, to you!) and stitching friendship samplers for each other and doing pinky swears by the fire in matching BEST FRIEND pajamas and sharing deep, dark secrets about families and sex and dreams and fears and regrets and unfortunate courses of action and medication. But it’s the T-shirts that really get to me.
[Yes. The T-shirts. There’s nothing ambiguous about them, no guessing. Really. Well, hey, what do you want from me? This is not Simile Central, I never professed to be a poet. Go write your own crappy simile if you don’t like my Best Friend House. Or go have lunch with your best friend. You probably have one.]
*****
One time, Sophie’s friend Merrie was visiting. Merrie happens to be the daughter of my old friend, the friend who is not worried about Sophie, not in the least.
Sophie threw her arms around Merrie.
“You’re my best friend,” said Sophie. “We’re best friends.”
“We’re friends,” said Merrie.
*****
I think sometimes that if I had had sisters, I might get how it all works. I might know how to ask to play with the other girls without wanting to take back every word as it comes out of my mouth, because nothing, nothing, sounds right enough or normal enough or casual enough or calm enough. I say too much or not enough. I lurch. I buck. I stall out. I’m sporting a standard transmission, and I am driving myself badly.
I want a nice automatic social transmission. That’s what I want. I know people who have these, and they are definitely the way to go. Smooth ride. I see the other girls out there. They all seem so good at this being friends stuff. And you have to be good at the being friends stuff before you can work your way up to the being best friends stuff.
A guy I know asked me what I thought the whole best friends concept was all about, for women. I said I thought it required nightly phone calls and living on the same block and never refusing an invitation and going to a spa together at least twice a year and getting side-by-side massages while you talk about what great best friends you are. And wearing BEST FRIEND T-shirts. Or BEST FRIENDS heart lockets that split in half.
I said I didn’t think I had it in me. I said I thought I’d already screwed up a few shots at best-friend-dom by moving away from people I love a whole lot, people who are better on the phone than me. I said I hate the phone like some people hate going to the dentist. I said I would rather go to the dentist than talk on the phone because at the dentist no one expects you to talk very much. I said at the dentist no one expects you to be cheerful or even all that appealing either, and that at the dentist you’re not as likely to say too much and come across as overenthusiastic or needy or pathetic, or say too little and come across as standoffish or inaccessible or, worse, creative. I said I would rather go to the dentist than get my hair cut, for the same reason. I kept talking about how much I like going to the dentist.
At this point the guy I know cut me off and suggested that I might want to reexamine my take on best friends.
*****
I think what I am saying is that I fear for Sophie and Hannah Belle. I fear they will be under the jungle gym forever, talking to wood chips while the other girls have sleepovers and whisper behind their backs about what maladjusted introverted freaks they are. Because this is not a life skill that I can teach them. Best-friending. And it seems to be a handy skill to have, to get by in the world.
I think what I am saying is that I throw in the towel sometimes, too.
*****
A card came for Sophie in the mail last week. She opened it and let me read it to her.
On the front of the card was a photo of two 1920s flapper girls, frolicking in a pond. Across the top of the card it said: FRIENDS. At the bottom of the card, it said: People always said we were connected at the hip.
Inside, the printed message continued: Through all the years, we’ve managed to stick together. You are a great friend.
The card came from Sophie’s friend Merrie. With her mother’s help, Merrie had written Dear Sophie, I love you. Love, Merrie. Please write back.
Then Merrie had asked her mother to write something else for her, on the back of the card.
You are my friend. Because you are my friend. Best friend.
I am going to save this card for Sophie for a very long time, to read whenever she throws in the towel. Seems like just the sort of thing to convince somebody to pick up the towel again.
Maybe.
Entry Filed under: Uncategorized, Playdates. (Relationships)
76 Comments
1. wavybrains | November 30th, 2005 at 4:35 pm
I’ve been lurking for awhile, but this made me HAVE to post. I can’t tell you how cool it was to read this and realize that I am not the only one who feels left out in the cold with “best friending.” I was a lot like you and Sophie as a kid, and I come from a mother who was similar as well. I worry for the social lives of my future children–doomed to sorting rocks and reading great books. I’m sure Sophie will grow up just fine, being loved and her own person as she is, but I certainly understand where you are coming from. Thanks for giving voice to these feelings.
2. Rachel | November 30th, 2005 at 5:11 pm
It strikes me that Sophie is likely to luck out, at a certain age, when she discovers other people like her. What exactly that means is hard for me to predict; they might be book geeks, or comic geeks, or theatre geeks. They’ll probably be artsy and interesting and a little bit strange. And they all spent a lot of time as kids reading books and making wood chips talk to each other, too.
When Sophie finds these people — her people — she will click into a whole social crowd that doesn’t behave like other social crowds. That operates by different rules. Just like she does.
That’s what I wish for her, anyway. It sure made my life a happy place when I found my tribe.
3. MommyZabs | November 30th, 2005 at 6:04 pm
Wow, this moved me to tears. I was a very socially adjusted kid. I got a lot of these things. But my mom always felt left out growing up. Before she died 11 years ago she still was feeling a little left out. My brother was bullied and treated horribly in school. I now have a little social 1.5 yr old boy and another on the way. I think about this topic a lot. My heart hurts for those that get hurt by others. I pray so hard my son won’t be bullied, and will never be a kid that outcasts others. I wish every parent would be determined to teach their kids how important every person is and deserves to be treated so. I’m sorry she has to go through this struggle so long. I know eventually we all get hurt and rejected by someone… but it is so hard when it is a precious little one getting hurt. But I agree with your friends in that as she grows and matures she will find “her friends” that share her interests and she may even have much more character then if she didn’t go through this. But as a parent, watching, it still has to be so hard.
4. Paula | November 30th, 2005 at 6:09 pm
Parenting is surprisingly about reliving your own insecurities, social disasters and wanting more than anything else to spare your children all the angst you lived as a child. Sitting by, because you HAVE to let your children navigate their way in the world, while all those old scars are opened again is agonizing. I know I’ve struggled watching my sensitive, quirky son make his way socially. At seven, he’s finally finding his way. But I remember vividly how gifted girls are at cruelty - want to compare scars?
5. karina | November 30th, 2005 at 6:11 pm
It’s funny…whenever I have to describe how I know you, I always say “my best friend from high school.” I’m so glad that you were assigned the seat next to me in freshman science class! I had never really had any close friends in my elementary school, so it was great to meet you and have some of those best-friend moments: there was no fireplace, but the forest motif wallpaper in your parents’ living room was a nice substitution…I remember the nightly phone calls and the hand-written notes and cartoons you passed to me in class (which you know I still have, ha, ha!)…there were those talks about families and sex and dreams and fears and regrets and unfortunate courses of action…there was even occasionally cocoa. (There were no T-shirts, but can you imagine the horrible sin of geekdom that we would’ve been committing if we had worn something like that in high school???).
So, my first point is, I agree with Rachel that Sophie will eventually find her niche and meet a lot of great friends who share her interests. My second point is that the definition of friendship changes a little over the years, so even if old friends don’t talk as often as they used to, the bond of friendship makes it seem like no time has passed and the geographical distances don’t exist. So I forgive you for not returning my call a while ago—I know we’ll catch up soon (other than just in blog comments).
6. Glam Jo | November 30th, 2005 at 6:15 pm
I don’t have children yet, but thus post really moved me. As a longtime lurker, I’ve really enjoyed your writing - but this one moved me. Thanks for sharing.
7. Spot the Wonder Dog | November 30th, 2005 at 6:19 pm
Fear not, someday she’ll discover the internet.
8. Jenn | November 30th, 2005 at 6:35 pm
Such nice words. Thanks, good souls.
Karina is especially kind to write in, as she transferred out of our high school because of me. Really. I let her down during a class presentation on the Puritans that we did with homemade Puritan sock puppets. She wouldn’t speak to me for several months. I’m still kicking myself, Kar.
I like that I wrote ‘homemade Puritan sock puppets,’ as if it were possible to obtain store-bought Puritan sock puppets.
9. Tree | November 30th, 2005 at 6:38 pm
You hate the phone! I hate the phone! Let’s never ever call each other!
Seriously, I don’t even hear it ring anymore. I get complaints all the time. But I just can’t muster up the enthusiasm to chat.
I, like you, was worried (and still am!) about my kids and whether they’d be painfully shy like I was as a kid. Luckily, they seem to be more outgoing than I was. They’re more like thier Dad that way.
I’m glad.
10. capello | November 30th, 2005 at 6:38 pm
A similiar situation has been hanging heavy on me lately, my great wish for “normalcy” for my kids and them, already, not having it. I have one son with Sensory Integration Disorder and another son with chronic food allergies, and all I can keep focusing on is how its not “normal” and all I’ve ever wanted for them is “nomalcy”.
I can relate to your concerns about Sophie; I feel like I’m trying to provide for them the best I can.
11. la vie en rose | November 30th, 2005 at 6:41 pm
absolutely beautiful! beautiful story…beautiful words…beautiful life lesson. i’ve got tears in my eyes because i was the girl under the jungle gym…and i still am…and i worry too, about my own…thank you for this…for your honesty and vulnerability
12. geogirl | November 30th, 2005 at 6:45 pm
Frankly, you should be glad that she wasn’t the mean girl who said “Go Away!”
If I had a child like that….then I would be worried!!
13. Simon | November 30th, 2005 at 7:06 pm
Not taking into account the paragon of social competence that stands before you here today (were I actually standing there before you, but just picture it), my own social ineptitude knew no bounds for what I will still call the majority of my life. Well into the teens.
This, of course, leads me to have many of the same fears for my own son that you so eloquently described here.
14. Kate | November 30th, 2005 at 7:19 pm
What a heartwrenching post; it inspired me to write for the first time. My 5 yr. old daughter is exactly the same way. But I’m sure that like my shy, sweet girl, Sophie is the child that every kid in school likes and admires because she is, whether she knows it or not, friends with (and accepting of) everyone. Anna told me the other day that there is a boy at her Montessori school that gets into trouble and is mean, and she went up to him and said “Even though you aren’t very nice to the rest of us kids, I still love you.” So while our children may not be the ones leading (or following!) little packs of mini-Heathers, our girls will always be sensitive and compassionate, and really, what more could we ask for?
15. Hillary | November 30th, 2005 at 7:20 pm
I was one of those kids for years, even through high school. The police even had a tap on our phone to figure out who was harrassing me in middle school.
but, most of the annoying people got over it in high school. I wasn’t popular, but I hung out with the popular kids (since we were in all the same classes).
I got to college, and all that changed. I found my group, literally my first night at school, and now have several people I think of as “best friends.” seven years later, I’m still friends with the poeple I met that night. To me, a best friend is someone who calls you in the middle of the night because her dog got hit by a car, or who you call when you need to feel better. the ones who you trust beyond a shadow of a doubt to never deliberately hurt you. nothing else matters.
16. Andi Mae | November 30th, 2005 at 7:24 pm
I too have been a lurker on your blog for awhile and chose today to make my comment debut. Before I had my daughter I was a preschool teacher, so I can completly relate to what you shared about Sophie. Its amazing how mean kids can be to each other at such a young age. Yet sometimes when I witnessd preschool cliques in action I felt as though I was more upset and emotional about the whole thing than the kid who got the shaft! Your girls are so blessed to grow up in a loving home where they can share their feelings and be themselves. That is the most important thing. No matter how they relate to the kids at school, they have a place where they can come home and drink that coca by the fireplace.
17. Eve | November 30th, 2005 at 7:34 pm
I love the way you put that. I’m not ready yet for my daughter to enter that world of Heathers. I do have sisters, but even that doesn’t prepare a little girl for the games that are played out there on the playground. The “who’s in” and “who’s out” of the moment is so random- no matter what a kid does or doesn’t do. There is no protective bubble available- I’ve looked at Walmart and everything- and I hate that.
If you’ve ever read the book “Cat’s Eye” by Margaret Atwood, it describes the little dance that goes on amongst little girls in such a vivid and terrifying way. It’s a great book.
Just be glad that Sophie isn’t one of the Heathers- that would be tougher.
18. Tina | November 30th, 2005 at 7:45 pm
Are you writing a book? I wish that you would write a book. That post was so beautiful, and I was conscious all the way through it that I was going to be done reading it in a couple of minutes.
If you wrote a book, I wouldn’t have to get all sad about the end of it until the end of it. With this post, I was sad about the end of it practically at the beginning.
Your daughter sounds so fantastic. What a darling - “throw in the towel”…listen, Sophie, hell, if things don’t work out with Merrie, I’ll be your best friend.
I’m 36 but I’m very short.
19. Jane | November 30th, 2005 at 7:50 pm
Your post brought me back to 6th grade, when a group of girls I had been eating lunch with every day told me I was no longer welcome. I retreated and ate lunch in the hidden stairwells of my middle school. It was sad.
The thing I remember most about it however, is a positive, wonderful thing. My mother offered to come pick me up and bring me home for lunch every day, no matter how busy her schedule was. I never took her up on it, but just knowing that she would never turn her back on me was enormously buoying. I’ll always remember that. Eventually, as Rachel predicted above, I found a group of friends who were more like me, and I was much happier.
I just wanted to echo other posters who urged you not to discount your own tremendous capabilities as Sophie’s wonderfully caring mother.
20. geogirl | November 30th, 2005 at 8:03 pm
Humm…..Jenn, let me guess. You’re a ISFJ*
I’m right aren’t I? Takes one to know one.
(*that’s Myers-Briggs speak)
21. the Mater | November 30th, 2005 at 8:18 pm
Jenn, you have touched many people today with this post. My heart ached when I realized that the power of the “in group” and social ostracism are already affecting my oldest granddaughter. And then my spirits lifted when Kate (#14) wrote “I’m sure that like my shy, sweet girl, Sophie is the child that every kid in school likes and admires because she is, whether she knows it or not, friends with (and accepting of) everyone”. It reminded me of the green award-ribbon I saw hanging in Sophie’s room this past weekend - the one which lauds her for her compassion and kindness. Knowing how sensitive she is, makes her being wounded almost unbearable.
But I worry more for the little ones who are already spouting “go away” … how can these kids learn to be more accepting and respectful of others? Sadly, there is no easy answer and cliques will always exist - I’m appalled that they are now starting at such a young age.
22. Dawn | November 30th, 2005 at 8:21 pm
Hey Jenn,
My first real taste of this occurred when my daughter was going into kindergarten. She had always been pretty non-committal when it came to friends. She played, she liked, she didn’t care if it was a boy or a girl. Then, she met Sarah in preschool, and for a year the two were like peas in a pod. Bossy Peas in a pod, but nonetheless.
Then Em moved to Kindergarten and Sarah stayed behind, cause Em was a year older. And the Pain. The Pain for Emily of walking into a group of children that she did not know - a group that already had their friendships and bonds. I refered to one little girl as “Devyn the Antichrist” since I had to hear every night how Devyn had said this and hurt Em’s feelings, or said Em couldn’t play, or told Emily that noone liked her. I wanted to beat the Shit out of Devyn…and Devyn’s mother, naturally.
There was a lot of crying on our rides home every night. From both females in the car - the big and the little. Because, as one of your posters pointed out, I was re-living all the awful girl on girl bullshit I had suffered AND participated in perpetrating against other girls. Yes, Let us not be holier than thou, internet . Most of us have done some pretty rotten things to at least one other female in our lifetime.
So I did what I always do in these situations - turn to books. I read and read. I read “Queen Bees and Wannabees”, I read “Girlfighting”, I read “We’re friends right?”, and Jane Katzen’s FABULOUS books - one being “No one likes me” - the other, “Under deadman’s Skin”. And I forumulated a plan for my daughter, and Me. How to explain the baffling world of female relationships, how to decipher the double speak of the female conversation, and how to cherish the true “girfriends” when you find them.
At 7, Emily is better at spotting when people are trying to make her feel bad using language. We still do a lot of role playing if she needs help in practicing what to say. I try to be aware before a catty comment flies out of my mouth about another woman, although I am not always successful.
Teaching our daughter to navigate in the world of the covert feminine is a job they don’t put in the baby manuals. You, Sophie and Hattie will do the very best you can.
23. Erin | November 30th, 2005 at 8:25 pm
I am totally identifying with Sophie and you as I read this, remembering the similar experiences I had and how my Mom agonized terribly about it…it was perhaps harder on her than it was on me. You described it so accurately and movingly (is that even a word?).
I survived the “mean girls” pretty well, although it was pretty tough at times. What makes me happy is knowing I’m still best friends with my best friends from that time (fellow loners all!). And once I got to college, none of it really mattered any more. It made me much more accepting of others, as I never wanted to make anyone else feel the way the mean girls made me feel in school. And that’s definitely a good thing!
Beautiful writing!
24. suburban misfit | November 30th, 2005 at 9:00 pm
You’ve made my heart ache for you and for Sophie (and not in the least because I have a daughter named Sophie as well). I didn’t find my niche until well after high school, but I was so lucky to find my best friend there. We’ve been friends for OHMYGOD 20 years. But we’ve only lived in the same town for 6 of those years. Mostly we were separated by the entire country, once by a whole ocean. Wnen she moved to New York recently (I’m in Ohio) I danced a little dance of joy because we’d be in the same time zone for the first time in *years*. We don’t talk every night, we certainly have never done pinky swears, but she’s my dearest friend in the whole world. I hope you have/find someone like that.
My Sophie is a social butterfly. All the kids want to play with her. And, thank goodness, she’s kind. There’s a rule at her kindergarten that there’s always room for one more friend in a game. *Always*. And they all take that rule very seriously. My son is a lot like your Sophie, though. And I worry about him. I used to worry more, but lately I’ve been thinking that there are some kids who need a lot of friends and there are some kids who just don’t. He’s one of those kids who doesn’t need a lot of friends, just one or two and he’s good. And if they aren’t around to play, he does something on his own and he’s OK. Sophie (yours) will be alright.
And so will Hannah. They have each other, too, which is so wonderful. I wish I had a sister.
25. elizabeth | November 30th, 2005 at 10:34 pm
why why why do i read this cause i end up crying every time… you are an amazing writer and a wonderful mother to care about all of this happening to your daughter. hang in there - you ended up pretty good right? and wouldnt you rather have a daughter who can take care of herself - to be able to play independently of others - and also have a good friend like merrie - instead of those who have to do everything in groups/cliques/packs?
hang in there - she’s doing fine.
26. andrea | November 30th, 2005 at 11:14 pm
hello there. found my way to you (and to this post) via glamorous jo. at first, I wasn’t going to comment. because there are already so many comments. or maybe because it hits too close to home. I have been witness to this same thing with my 5 year-old daughter ava. she is such a bright light.. so funny, smart… but also quiet and slightly introverted. she is so timid when it comes to meeting new folks. and I can see it in her eyes… she wants to be accepted, to play with all the other girls. sometimes she just doesn’t know how to get in there. and sometimes she is content to do her own thing. she spent her first year of pre-school reading books and playing with the doll house, completely and totally on her own. she didn’t really have any friends and it killed me. and I have also witnessed a couple of those heart-breaking scenarios that involve brutal rejection. and it just kills you, doesn’t it? yes, I wanted to smack the four year-old girl with the big yellow bow in her hair and the mean smile on her face. I wanted to smack the big glob of icing off her mean little mouth and it caught me off guard, this impulse I had and I’m a little ashamed. but it was just too much, to see my daughter rejected in this way. it’s something that you don’t really think of when you have kids… this kind of thing. they never warn you about this.
so ava is in kindergarten now and I think she has found a good balance. she’s got some pals, the tried and trues. though she can also hang on her own. it hurts me to know that she is having to develop that skiin- you know, the tough one that protects you from the meaness. but I know that it’s necessary.
thanks for your words, for sharing this. beautiful writing.
27. greensunflower | December 1st, 2005 at 12:22 am
This made me cry!!! I am sophie at that age. And now I have more friends a sorta best friend. I am making more friends by the day. It took me a long time to learn to do that. I think I started to get good at it around 16 and it has taken me 10 years to feel comfortable enough with myself to express those talents.
Dont worry about her, she will learn independence from this time in her life and make friends later.
28. kris | December 1st, 2005 at 12:29 am
Oh, Jenn. I wish I had some wisdom or a snappy joke to make you feel better. All I can say is this:
I was a kid who often had a difficult time socializing, at least until college. As a child, I was overly sensitive and just never “got-it” when people said things they didn’t mean. But eventually, even I made some wonderful friends. And, I didn’t have Sophie’s smarts, nor the friendship of a wonderful mother and sister.
Besides, I’ve been told that older siblings often seek out time to play alone, after being followed all day by their younger brothers or sisters.
There’s so much to worry about. How on earth do we make it through?
29. Katieface | December 1st, 2005 at 2:22 am
Sweet, sweet Soph. We love you. Ben feels really bad about those bites early on.
He’s feeling kind of judged these days, too. Almost every thing he does is prefaced with the question (asked in a quivery voice), “Will Anders and Max make fun of me if I do that?” My preferred response? “They better not. If they do, I’ll kick the shit out of them.” Being the decent parent that I am, I usually try to think of another answer…
30. Eulallia | December 1st, 2005 at 4:26 am
Man. I wish I had some wonderful words of advice, but the truth is I’m STILL struggling with those crazy social issues. I don’t think I’ll ever get over my clumsy and bumbling ineptness in social situations. The only thing I can say, is that I wish my mom had understood that and helped me though it as a kid. That would have made a world of difference to me, and it just warms my heart to think of the wonderful relationship Sophie will have with you forever. It’s a lot harder to go through this kind of thing with your child, instead of brushing it off with a “kids will be kids” kind of attitude. It’s hard, but it’s so worth it.
31. Gayle | December 1st, 2005 at 7:54 am
I was the kid on the playground that was left playing with wood chips, too. Since high school, I’ve run into many of those who pushed me out of their group of three. And you know what? I don’t actually like them. They aren’t people I would ever want in my life - we’re just completely different creatures with different priorities and preferences. I sometimes wonder if, had I not been pushed out, I would have succumbed to the pressure to follow the same path as they. And the result of that? I wouldn’t have gone to Sarah Lawrence, and I wouldn’t have met one Jennifer Mattern, so if I have to thank the groups of threes for anything, it’s for THAT, and for not giving me the option to fit in. It’s little consoliation to Sophy, I know. But imagine if the group of three let her and slowly chipped away at at the Sophy we know and love? I say let’s applaud her for the wood-chip heavy imagination that provides her with a far richer life in the long-term than the short-term group of three.
32. Stephanie | December 1st, 2005 at 11:46 am
Hi Jen,
I am back in the country and so happy that I can read your blog again. This one was really touching. I think every girl has felt this at some point and I would guess that those Heather’s-in-the-making have even felt it too. I know I felt that way when I showed up at Grad school knowing no one and feeling terribly lonely and afriad. But you were one of the people that reached out and made me feel more at home and happy there. I am sure that Sophie will grow up to be the kind of person that can do that for others, just like you are.
33. Susie | December 1st, 2005 at 11:59 am
Ugh reliving some moments with this post. For me and for my niece who went through this sort of thing in elementary school. It’s so hard and I have no advice to give because you are doing everything I would do.
I have to also come forward as a phone phobe too. I hate the phone. I’m well known to screen calls to voicemail then reply via email. Several family members hate that. But I just hate the phone. Truly.
Warmest wishes and hugs to you and Sophie. She’s lucky to have a good mum that she can talk to.
34. Jenn | December 1st, 2005 at 12:03 pm
Jeez, what are you people trying to do, make me cry? I’m really touched by all the thoughtful responses, thank you.
But of course now I’m bracing for the Sophie backlash. Today I’ll get four phone calls from parents complaining that my kid threw wood chips in their kids’ faces, or that she called their kids dumb wood chips or something cruel and horrible like that.
35. Lessa | December 1st, 2005 at 12:15 pm
I was always a loner in school as well, though eventually i did find friends that I’ve kept as close ever since. Though I was very much like you - (even with a sister! it didn’t really help) - and sophie, through the years I’ve adjusted my take on ‘best friends’ and what/who they are.
See, I have one, yet there’s no matching t-shirts. He happens to be very popular guy in his own circles, too - but what makes him ‘best’ to me is two main things: He accepts me exactly as I am - in that I can say anything to him and know that it will not affect his love for me. and two - he is not afriad to kick me in the ass when i need it. That’s true friendship there - knowing when to push, when to shove, and when to shut up and just hold on. I never have to fake it with him, or put on a face. He’s seen me at my worst, he’s cheered when i’m at my best. He’s given me the space to be a wallflower, yet at times forced me out of my comfort zone because it was good for me. Without him I’d not have made it through some of the roughest times in my life. And with his support I’ve excelled in some things I never would have dared try alone.
That’s not to say we haven’t had our problems in the past 8 years - we have. I’ve cried many a bucket over him when I thought he was gone. But we got through it, stronger then ever. being ‘best’ doesn’t mean it was easy by any means. But it is certainly worth it.
defining it as ‘best’ is not about the word, but about the feeling behind it for me. He’s simply the one I trust above all others to have my back, no matter what. And I’d do absolultely anything for him in return. Maybe it’s better defined as “true friend” - I don’t know. All I know is I’m damn lucky to have him.
Sophie will find her place, as you have, but I think she will be ok. It might take time, but there will be that one or more somewhere that clicks for her.
36. R J Keefe | December 1st, 2005 at 1:34 pm
Beautifully laid out entry.
What does The Mater say? I miss her comment.
37. Polichick | December 1st, 2005 at 1:56 pm
This is a wonderful, heartbreakingly real piece. I agree with your friend, I think Sophie will be just fine. But I also understand what you’re saying about wanting things to be easier for her. Everything is a trade-off, and as someone who has the easy friendship gene, there are many difficulties in that too, I can promise you.
38. the Mater | December 1st, 2005 at 1:57 pm
RJ, I have, indeed, replied … see #21.
39. Angela | December 1st, 2005 at 2:33 pm
You’ve written so eloquently about a worry that hangs heavy around EVERY mother’s heart at least some of the time. Kudos to your ability to wrap words around such a difficult subject.
Oh my God, the cliques. Do we EVER fully outgrow the fear of the torture of cliquedom? I joined a nationally-known mother’s group about three years ago, only to quit it last year because of the CLIQUES! So did not have the time or energy for the drama.
But I hear, more and more often, especially from my friends with little girls, how much sooner they seem to start up these days. Dear Lord, preschool Heathers? It is to weep. There are reasons God gave me only boys, and this is one of them.
Actually, take that back. Boys aren’t exempt from this crap, either. My eldest occasionally has a sad “so-and-so didn’t want to play with me” story on the way home from preschool. And like you, my head spins and my heart aches as I think of the right thing to tell him.
Motherhood is HARD. But sounds like you’re more than up to it. Hang in there, darlin’.
40. leah | December 1st, 2005 at 3:31 pm
Your child’s pain is so hard to endure. SO HARD. Partially cause you are not only feeling their pain, but reliving your own and imagining all the hurt that is yet to come for them. Just remember that there is lots of sweetness in there too.
Nancy Friday discusses the rejection cycle with little girls and how our society breeds it in her book The Power of Beauty. It’s an oldie, but a goodie if you are looking for YET MORE reading from the commenters.
41. Kathryn DYM | December 1st, 2005 at 3:40 pm
You have flippin’ 40 comments already so you don’t need to hear this, but what an awesome post.
Being shunned a couple of times in the early days taught me to never, never be one of those girls. I still deal with clicks in my 20-something friendship groups and because of those early experiences, I’m able to let it roll of my back and not get caught up in it when they offer me the t-shirt so we can waltz off and ditch our other friends.
42. TRF | December 1st, 2005 at 4:51 pm
Paraphrasing Groucho (I think):
Sophie wouldn’t want to be in a clique that would have her as a member.
43. Cousin Alice | December 1st, 2005 at 5:38 pm
Jenn, you have so much insight and a way with words,forcing me to relive my”raising children” days.
You are truly a compassionate Mom,heart hurting as hard as your little “hurt one”is hurting.Trust me, Sophie will find her “best friend”in time, looks like Merrie is #1 candidate.Sophie is so sweet and sensitive (like her Mom)and is probably waiting to see which of these “friends” she can relate to. She is highly intelligent(again like her Mom) andable to playindependently, which is wonderful!! Not many children can do this.
Looks to me like Sophie can handle these things well.But Mom’s will always feel these hurts as long as we are Moms. I expect Ms. Sophie will be a gifted writer (like Mom!) and tell us all about her trials and tribulations with friends. I look forward to your next essay.
44. Lauren | December 1st, 2005 at 6:09 pm
I went to a crazy private school in johannesburg for part of elementary school, where the teachers wouldn’t allow anyone to play with me, and then moved back to the states for third grade and found a best friend. we played everyday, always ate lunch together, everything. then in forth grade she formed the “i hate lauren club” and invited all the girls in my class to join. and i felt just like sophie. my mom would say, why don’t you just ask someone else to play, or join a group and make new friends, but (duh!) that was beyond impossible. we moved halfway around the world and back before i got my shot at a best friend and it screwed me in the end. for years i was friends with only boys because i couldn’t trust girls not to stab in the back. when i was in college i found the most fantastic girls to be friends with, and while we were all hesitant about the “best friend’ label, we got to do all those great best friend things. they were (are) all so loyal, kind, generous, and most importantly understanding about how awful awful awful it is to be the one left out.
i wish there was an easier way. i fear having a little girl of my own one day and having to have the conversation you so perfectly described.
your post was beautiful. it made me cry. maybe the best thing you could do is save all these comments and when she can understand, show sophie how very many people there are who have been through what she’s going through.
the benefit though, as others have mentioned, is the inner strength that comes with being outcasted. one of my favorite qualities about myself is having high standards for the company i keep. after wishing for so many years for anyone at all to play, i have learned that mean “friends” or boring friends or rude friends are not neccesarily better then the pleasure of my own company. i realized that since i was the person i could count on to be there for me. and, for the most part, i didn’t fall vicitim to girls who would take advantage of my vulnerability.
45. Gina | December 1st, 2005 at 7:07 pm
Great post…I agree with the idea that eventually even us “eccentric” people can “find our tribe”, but sometimes it’s a bumpy road.
My first day of nursery school (30 years ago, I remember it clearly) all the other kids decided I was “the monster” and ran away. It was a bad way to set the scene for future schooling years. I think I was a fairly serious, bookish little kid, but not overtly wierd.
I DID find a tribe, years later in high school. But then I’ve never really been able to recapture that “group” thing, moving from small-town to small town for work as I’ve done.
When I FINALLY found a perfect mate, I was worried about who to ask to be my “maid of honor”… that’s supposed to be your “best friend”, right?? So, at age 32, I asked a good friend who was older than me. We had fun, it was great. I felt honored to have a friend stand up with me.
Then months later, she made some reference to her “best friend” who lives in another state. Sigh…..
It gets better, but we quirky ones also get better at living with this odd dislocation. I AM truly blessed to have a “best friend” husband from that whole deal, though… there’s hope for everyone!
46. Michael | December 1st, 2005 at 7:59 pm
Wow…Amazing how frustrating it is to WANT to fix things for our kids over which we have no power. Frustrating. Infuriating. Saddening.
I had a similar experience with my son when he started preschool last year. The life of the party had been leveled in one fell swoop by another kid who said she hated him. I reacted with calm and compassion as he tearfully recounted the incident at bedtime, but in my head I was trying to figure out the slowest, most painful way to kill that other kid. And then I was saddened by the first little chip of innocence stolen from my son. “And so it begins,” I thought. “The world is becoming a different place for him from this moment forward.”
Thank you for sharing your experience. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one!
M
47. OFF THE RECORD | December 1st, 2005 at 8:06 pm
just a week or so ago, I had a conversation with my 7 year old boy about boundaries…getting one/keepingone/how valuable they are, etc. I explained that it’s like putting a hug around you, imagining it’s a hug from mom, dad & sister - and that untruths and unkindnesses were not welcome inside the hug - just as untruths and unkindesses were not given any credence at our house.
I was horribly ostracized and bullied as a child. Nothing is ever the same. But what I have now is skills that I can share with him and his sister and all the adults that I meet that can still bully and ostracize with the best.
…your gift to your children and the adults in your world is sharing your words…we all need to keep creating healthy boundaries - and insisting no less than love and acceptance and tolerance and patience for ourselves and our families.
48. Rebecca | December 1st, 2005 at 8:14 pm
I find it so telling that there are already 45 comments here. What you’ve described so beautifully here is universal; we’ve all felt it at some degree or another in our lives. And our children will all feel it, too.
Before I had children, this was always one of the things that troubled me the most — the prospect of watching my child hurt for all of the same reasons I hurt as I child. I was right to worry. It’s every bit as painful as I thought it would be.
Sophie is a lot like my daughter, both in her experiences and the way she is able to articulate their effects on her. That they are so in touch with their feelings may make it harder on them at times. But that’s also what will make them such true and lasting friends to those people they make a special connection with. We just have to trust that in the end, they’ll be able to see the value in that and in themselves.
49. robin | December 1st, 2005 at 11:32 pm
i was a lonely kid, often left out the swing of things. i managed to get by without too much damage, and by the time i got out of high school, i knew that somewhere a gate had just swung open and things could finally change. i have several best friends now, who fit and fulfill different parts of me, but each of which i feel a primal connection to. many (most?) of them are far away, but the bond is still there in some fashion.
i made it through okay, but i wonder what it would have been like had there been more intervention in the social aspect of my life. my daughter is seven, in first grade, wildly outgoing, and other than a tendency toward a bed temper she is so far roundly liked. nonetheless, i have witnessed moments of her powerlessness, and have wondered how to help her navigate through friendships as she gets older. one of her preschools followed the “you can’t say you can’t play” rule, and i have to say that while some people might think it an overprotective and unrealistic approach, i think it had lasting consequences for most of the children. (i believe the woman’s name who wrote the book “you can’t say you can’t play” is vivian paley.) i think kids can learn that excluding someone is not okay just as much as they can learn that throwing sand is not okay (and, okay, some of them learn better than others, but…)
at my daughter’s public elementary school, social issues are on equal footing with academic issues, and kids visit “friendship groups” on a regular basis. this really impresses me, not just because my daughter might sometimes be the victim of someone’s words or actions, but because it also gives me a framework for discussing some of her more negative thoughts about the other children (e.g. her frustration at standing in line behind a physically disabled boy in her class).
i’ve had it in my mind to read “odd girl out” which is supposed to shed light on the particular ways in which girls express power. that’s another big part of the equation.
now, of course, that’s all about my daughter, who’s the outgoing and tougher skinned one. my son, who is four, is the tender type, and they’ll be a whole different set of circumstances (and a whole other round of books ) to deal with.
thanks for the great posts.
50. tinker | December 2nd, 2005 at 7:33 am
You certainly know how to bring us lurkers out of the woodwork!
As a mom of 1 fully grown-up (29) daughter & 1 mostly grown-up (20 next month) daughter; & now, grandmother of 2 granddaughters, I finally have gained a little perspective on the friends & loners issue. Although I suffered from the same social exclusion, I managed to make a friend the first day of junior high - we’re still friends nearly 40 years later. As an adult, at each career or neighborhood change, I would manage to make one friend, I kept in touch with when I moved on. Now I have a whole Christmas list of friends; though I don’t see them every day or even every month, when we do see each other - we’re still friends. I’ve watched my daughters as they have grown, do the same, having just A friend; then slowly gathering a friend here & there along the way - while I worried and shed tears of sympathetic rage at the cruelties of other girls. Now, when I see my granddaughter playing alone, engaging a fork & spoon in conversation, at a birthday party (she’s been invited to, only because her sister is one of the blessed ones; the hereditary shy gene is missing from her DNA) - though my heart still aches for her; well, now I don’t worry quite as much. I hope this brings you some comfort. And cheers for Merrie’s mom, encouraging her daughter to be a REAL friend at a young age (if only more mother’s of the socially blessed were so enlightened!) :>)
51. Antonia | December 2nd, 2005 at 9:04 am
I never had a best girl friend at school: I considered making best friends out of some of them but they always seemed to be taken already by some other boring snot. I always had and still have lots of good friends, and I prefer that. What if you have a best friend, and then you meet someone else you like a lot? It might put Best Friend A’s nose out of joint.
And I love going to the dentist. Seriously. I’ve taught myself to relax there so much that now I just flop down and smile while he excavates my root canals. I would rather be in the dentist’s chair than the hairdresser’s, any day. x
52. JustLinda | December 2nd, 2005 at 10:10 am
I’m having some similar concerns and conversations with my 3 almost 4 year old who has had some friend-challenges at preschool (Abigail is a ROCKSTAR but she doesn’t think my little Jadie is one! Can you believe it?).
One thing I have learned in my 40 years of life… so many of us feel ‘different’ inside and think no one else feels like us, but the TRUTH is that we all are alike in how we feel different and alone.
I’ll admit right here and now, I don’t have the t-shirt either and I envy it.
53. Anon | December 2nd, 2005 at 12:16 pm
Wow, did you hit a nerve with this one. I’m of the mind that learning how to deal with confrontation is better than expecting everyone to play nice. There will always be times in life when you have to stand up for yourself and deal with it. Whether it is dealing with a landlord, asking for a raise, or going to the dentist. No one likes to see their little ones suffer, but shielding them from it may be worse in the long run. Like I was saying to my old friend, Mr. Woodchip, just the other day “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger”.
54. Khali | December 2nd, 2005 at 1:31 pm
Indeed! “What does not kill you makes you stronger”. I was the kid that got teased relentlessly for my hand-me down clothes, glasses and big hair. Naturally I fell in with the other misfits, the other kids who found refuge under teh jungle gym or in the cedar ring outside the back door of the school. All through public school I’d fall in with these people and to this day some of them are still my friends - but it wasn’t until me firsttwo years of university that I found my “tribe” as another commenter said. I’m noticing a little of the same with my stpdaughter, even though she is far more outgoing than I was at her age. Sophie is very lucky to have you to back her up and to talk to when things don’t go right at school, just know that she too, will find her niche. Thank you so much for sharing this!
55. Kelly | December 2nd, 2005 at 3:36 pm
Your post spoke so strongly to me that I quoted you on my blog so I could talk some more about my own story. It’s a topic I’ve written about before, and I’m amazed by how many layers there are to this friendship thing.
I love your writing.
56. Melissa | December 2nd, 2005 at 5:25 pm
I’m coming out of lurkdom - your words say so much of what I’ve been worrying about with my son. Sophie sounds like such an incredible child, she’s doing a fine job (and she has a great mother!)
57. Beverly | December 2nd, 2005 at 5:49 pm
Thank you for this. Sometimes it’s so hard being the mother of a little girl who feels so much and wants to be best friends with everyone. I wish I knew the words to help soothe her when someone breaks her heart by pushing her away or by being mean to her.
And sometimes I think I try and stymy the need for her to be too individual, wanting to save her from black listing and ridicule from her peers.
Most of the time I fail.
I wondered once if popular/mean kids were born, not products of their circumstances and surroundings.
Most of the time I try to tell her in a somewhat PC way to F’ em.
You’re a million times better than they’ll ever be, baby.
That I accomplish.
58. John | December 2nd, 2005 at 6:02 pm
OK, I started reading your post a day or two ago and didn’t have time to finish it until today. I’ve skipped all 56 comments so far, because that’s still a lot of time!
With our oldest daughter in kindergarten, and she’s a deep soul who’s never been in daycare, we spend a huge amount of time thinking and talking about just these things.
One of the things that frustrates me, but I think is so very true… and you have (I suggest that you) take to heart is this:
You can’t teach her to be a good friend. You can’t teach her the secrets of best-friendship… EVEN IF you knew them. She’s her own person, and will find her own way. And there’s pretty much nothing you can do about it. Other than watch, and be scared, and occasionally be joyful. YOU’RE not a part of this.
We had our first parent-teacher conference maybe a month ago. One of the things most on my mind was to ask our Hannah’s kindergarten teacher who Hannah plays with… is she social… who are her friends… etc?
The part of her answer that’s relevant to those of you who aren’t Hannah’s parents was this: kindergarteners are still too ego-centric to form cliques. They float. They do what THEY are interested in. And if some other kids are doing what they want to do, then they might form a group for a while. But then they float off when their interest/attention goes to something else. Some are friends one day, then a different group forms another day… it’s just this soup of kids floating around in their own world, sometimes sticking to each other, sometimes not…
At least that was our Hannah’s teacher’s perspective… all except the soup part!
Which is not to say that our Hannah doesn’t have a couple best friends, but even their it’s more a matter of convenience (who’s nearby and available) than anything else. Their play isn’t necessarily with each other all the time…
Anyway, the GREAT TRUTH for us these days is that how our Hannah turns out here isn’t really up to us. She’ll find her own way… and we just pray that it’s a good way.
John
59. John | December 2nd, 2005 at 6:12 pm
I said,
>> Anyway, the GREAT TRUTH for us these days is that how our Hannah turns out here isn’t really up to us. She’ll find her own way… and we just pray that it’s a good way.
And I guess what I really meant was that, as much as we agonize over every little detail… every little nuance… every act of friendship or not… every time she reaches out to play with others versus talking woodchips… there’s nothing we can do about those individual events. We can do our best to raise her in a certain way, but that’s influencing in geological time… we can’t alter the day-to-day weather.
60. Mandy | December 2nd, 2005 at 7:04 pm
I had never really thought about pre-school/day care cliques and bullies until the other day when I went to pick up my 16 month old son and on the way to his classroom I passed two little girls, maybe 4 or 5 years old, waiting in line for the bathroom. One said, “I don’t like you!” to the other, and the other, who fortunately had not really heard the first one’s words said, ‘’What?” to which the first replied, “I like you!” It’s almost as if she was testing the power of her words, realizing for the first time the impact she could have on another person. Or maybe she was just being silly. Who knows. But for me, it was the first time I had ever really thought about how in a few years my son Ivan will be in those sorts of situations, and my heart nearly broke right then and there with the realization of it all. When I was 7 years old we moved to a small town and I was the “new girl” for, literally, years. The new girl who never really felt like she fit in. It was a tough period in my life, one that still makes me cry for that wounded 7 year old I was, and I’m 36 years old! Many, girls can be mean. I guess it’s the same for boys. I wish WalMart did stock that bubble protection that Eve looked for. But of course that would ensure that Ivan was a social freak. Even worse would be if he was the bully.
61. Heather | December 2nd, 2005 at 8:50 pm
I am a Heather - but not a “Heather.” I never fit in as a child and I still don’t as - ack - a grandmother. I’ve watched my children with wonder and pain as they navigate the trecherous waters of grwoing up. My daughter, now 15, is an old soul. She understands so much more than many adults I know. As a very young child, she had the wisdom to know herself, and how to separate the junk people offered to each other from the true stuff. Something I often get snooker by, I accept it all - and still get hurt. I have learned from my daughter - to trust my own soul and heart. This is something you and your children know. It doesn’t lessen the pain - wewant to protect our children. But by loving, listening and trusting them, we do protect them in a way. Your Sophie, and Hattie Belle too, are gifts to our world. They will continue to shine the light you have started.
62. Hermit | December 2nd, 2005 at 9:42 pm
I couldn’t make it all the way through this post the first time, so deep are my memories of and insecurities about being ostracized.
Thanks to your latest post, I tried again. Glad I did. Made me all teary and hopeful about friendship all over again.
63. Gina | December 2nd, 2005 at 10:44 pm
my favorite button ever:
HERMITS UNITE!
64. Spot the Wonder Dog | December 3rd, 2005 at 12:24 am
You got a great little angsty groove going here.
OK, everyone turn to your neighbor and give him/her a hug. Good. Ok, all together now… “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and dog gone it, people like me.”
65. Jenn | December 3rd, 2005 at 1:52 am
Oh, how this took me back to my first year of school. I was already an outsider, a younger kid who had skipped kindergarten to go directly to first grade. I remember playing with a group of girls during class, after our class stuff was done, and then it was recess so I followed them out to the playground. And then they turned to me and said “We don’t want to play with you. Goodbye.” Then they walked off and left me there, in the middle of the playground. How are kids so cruel? And it’s not just girls. My husband and I don’t have kids, but I am dreading the day when I have to explain to a child why so-and-so was mean to them.
As for the other girls, one of them is one of my closest friends today. I’m sure she doesn’t remember what happened that day.
66. einhorn_13 | December 3rd, 2005 at 6:02 am
I have read this post about 6 or 7 times over the last couple of days. I have read all the wonderful comments to it. I sat through a symposium on something scientific or other and yet my mind was busy trying to come up with appropriate response all day.
And I didn’t find one. Other than my phone bill is very close to negative digits, because I hate the phone that much. And I have three dentists, yet not a single hairdresser.
I still struggle on an almost daily basis with the concept of wanting to fit in with others and being independent of them at the same time. Even before kindergarten I was very shy and preferred having my nose in a book or quitely playing dolls by myself. I could entertain myself for hours. My mother kept setting up playdates for me and helped me make friends. I think I turned out okay.
So, do worry! It’s what mothers do (and I’m pretty sure my mother did a lot of it). Keep doing what you’re doing! It’s one of many opportunities for growth and learning and in between you and your little wise girl, you’ll do just fine.
67. Nancy | December 3rd, 2005 at 11:21 am
Jenn, another mostly lurker coming out to say — thank you for this post. I can relate on two levels: with respect to myself (past and current — I struggle with the best friend thing too), and with respect to my almost-4-year-old daughter. She is JUST LIKE ME, which scares the heck out of me. She has a group of close friends at day care, but even at 4 they are so dramatic in the ebb and flow of friendship — they’ll swap loyalties in a heartbeat. Most of the other kids seem mostly unaffected by this, but not my girl.
It’s amazing how much having a girl, a girl so much like my young self, brings back these difficult thoughts and feelings. It’s sort of like reliving my past, but with a “do-over” — an opportunity to help my daughter cope in ways I could not. I just hope I can help her through successfully. I think it will be OK. I hope it will be OK for you and for Sophie as well.
68. ChopinGal | December 3rd, 2005 at 11:58 am
LOL Gina’s “my favorite button ever: HERMITS UNITE!”
Isn’t that a contradiction of terms?! DUH … or am I just the last to get the joke?! H2?! H9?!
69. Gennie | December 3rd, 2005 at 8:13 pm
Can we get over 70 comments?
Yet another lurker, inspired to come out of the closet for this one. I was a super-shy kid who had such a hard time making friends. My daughter (age 21 months) seems to be COMPLETELY the opposite of me. I actually worry for her that she will turn out to be one of the popular kids, and I don’t know if I know how to teach her how to NOT be the sort of horrible girl who ostricized me.
I heard this wonderful interview with Vivian Paley on NPR a few weeks ago that had me thinking about this same thing. She is a kindergarten teacher (and the only one to ever win a MacArthur “genius” Grant). She wrote (among other things) a book called “You Can’t Say You Can’t Play.” She made a rule in her kindergarten classroom - essentially saying that kids were not allowed to tell other kids that they couldn’t play or couldn’t sit here or can’t join in. And it had a profound effect on that classroom and the kids.
It’s made me think a lot about how to try to teach that to my daughter. And why don’t ALL adult make that rule? Why do we tolerate such nastiness in little kids? I’m still thinking about how to do this as a parent - but that’s the job, really, isn’t it? Figuring out how to raise our kids to be good people.
70. Imperfect Mommy | December 4th, 2005 at 8:57 am
I’ll be number 70. Not sure I need to reiterate what a great post this was, but I will. And the comments are making me feel like there were many more of “us” than there were Heathers in school. I was so ostracized in middle school, I had to switch schools. But there I met my future husband, and the only “best friend” I have ever had.
I still have issues navigating the female social world. But I have so much baggage with this stuff, I think I’ll clog up my own blog with it. Thank you for the post.
71. Imperfect Mommy » P&hellip | December 4th, 2005 at 9:33 am
[…] (or ache at the thought of your children dealing with it), you will really appreciate this post at Breed ‘Em and Weep. Eddie Bauer doesn’t have enough inventory to co […]
72. Mom of 1 | December 4th, 2005 at 11:36 pm
Yep. What they all said. Jenn you made me cry again. I agree that most people I know and respect as adults were outcasts in school, but I still deeply envy the people who found their tribe early. I am afraid that my 21-mo-old is the popular type, and I won’t know how to keep her from being a Heather! Will I live vicariously through her, enjoying the pompom rallys I never went to, or will I stand in the background, muttering “why couldn’t I have that?” OK, probably both!
73. nita | December 5th, 2005 at 7:56 am
Delurking and vowing not to go on and on…my best friend, Anna, since age 11 is just like you guys. Me? I’m 40 and have ten honest to god best friends. I love people and they love me back. And when they don’t I don’t get too upset by it - to each his own…But Anna is special. And sensitive. Always has been. And her daughter Abby is looking to be cut from the same cloth as her mom.
Abby got on the bus last week and the girls she always sits with wouldn’t let her sit. Anna witnessed this and stepped up onto the bus and interceded. “Helen, you have enough room for Abby to sit with you guys” and Helen chirped, “Why of course! Abby, sit here!”. Insincere little shit.
Next day Abby gets a tear as the bus crests her street. But it was okay, Helen scooted right over with a giant smile for Anna.
Anna called me bawling that first day. I recommended she teach Abby to throw a solid throat punch. Anna again reminded me why I’m not allowed to babysit now that Abby’s older
I have a daughter. Who seems already to be quiet and deliberate, like her scientist dad.
I don’t know how you don’t throttle other children, but I’ll continue to watch you and try to learn…
thanks for this post. beautifully done. and I’d be happy to email Sophia instructions on executing a solid throat punch….
74. Diana | December 5th, 2005 at 11:37 am
I hated school, not because of the work, I was always an honor student. I hated the people. Kids can be cruel, and I hate to think what our kids go through in school. My son just turned one- I have a few years to go till I start wanting to give other kids the throat punch. (Nita- I love that!)
There’s only so much you can do for your kids, they pretty much have to go through it. My mother never knew of the things I went through- she would have gone to the school and complained and I would have been more embarrassed…so I bottled it up, and continued on.
To this day I am not friends with many girls. The “friends ” i have are the wives or girlfriends of my husbands family…but they are mostly just someone to converse with when we’re together, not to call for a shopping trip or dinner.
I think it’s horrible that I can’t bring myself to be “Best Friends” with a female, but that’s what they did to me. My husband is my best friend, he wouldn’t make fun of my hand-me-downs (which i always had to wear) or my glasses (because they were the FREE ones that my mom’s insurance covered)… and so on…
Sophie will grow to be better than them, and you will watch in satisfaction…
75. Bethany | December 14th, 2005 at 6:07 pm
I just found your blog and am really enjoying.
From one introvert to another, not having “best friend” skills is not the end of the world. I have one “best friend.” She lives 10 minutes away and we see each other rarely, but love each other still. Another good friend lives 45 minutes away and I haven’t seen her in 2 years. I love her too.
I lost 2 dear college friends because I could not keep up the every other weekend get together life style they love. They saw me as “not putting time into the friendship.” I saw it as protecting my personal space and time.
In any case, because extroverts are so popular, introverts are often perceived as having someting “wrong” with them. There is nothing wrong with me, and I have a rich inner life and a warm, small, loving inner circle.
My older daughter is almost 3 and I suspect she’ll be much like Sophie when she gets to preschool. Her little sister is 8 months, and it’s early to tell, but I don’t think she got the introvert gene.
Yet they are both awesome, beautiful, and perfect.
76. Stevie | December 19th, 2005 at 9:55 am
I found your blog friday afternoon…I book marked it for downtime in my office…downtime came quicker than usual as I never closed the window and started reading again immediatly. I can relate to this in a big way…big. All my life I played second fiddle…I was second best. I was never the best friend…I was always the third friend in the best friend circle. It always bummed me out. Made me doubt myself and my worth. As I got older I allowed myself to be second in relationships too…I allowed myself to be the girl the guy with the girlfriend dated…I did that three times. I woke up one day and realized that no one…not anyone is going to make me their “best friend” and not anyone is going to make me their only girlfriend unless I realize that I’m worth it. I think thats the biggest motivator…I had to recognize my own self worth…It sounds like Sophie and Hannah Belle have an amazing mom and that if you continue to assure them that they are worth it then they will know that they are…dont ever stop reminding them that they are number one to the most important person…mom
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