Jr. High Part II
Although my Charlie is not the alpha male of our group, his best friend Mikey is. Charlie and Mikey, the two oldest ones, are totally inseperable. When Mikey and Charlie are naughty at the kitchen table, the three younger ones follow. When they think of an imaginative way to play with Play-Doh and rubber bands, the other ones think it is genius and copy. But let's be clear: Mikey is the leader. Charlie is happy to follow.
When Mikey went on vacation last week, the group dynamic changed. Charlie became the leader. The others followed him around like he was the best thing since Tater Tots. They did whatever he said. One girl in particular was his new best friend, and he seemed to thoroughly enjoy her company. For a full week, she was his official sidekick.
But when Mikey returned, things were not pretty.
They were outside playing on their ride-on bikes as usual. It seemed like a normal day, the five kids playing together happily. I noticed Lucy seemed very emotional, and mysteriously burst into tears a few times, which is not terribly unusual for her. Each time I looked at her, she appeared to be uninjured, so I told her, "you're OK.”
But a few minutes later, she was once again devastated, practically drenched in tears. I approached her to ask what was wrong but she was so hysterical, she could not talk. So I sat back and watched. I watched her ride over to Charlie, and in her nicest, sweetest voice, say, “Hi, Charlie.”
He grunted. A deep, long lasting, gravelly grunt that said, “I am not interested in this right now.” Then he rode away.
Immediately she burst into tears again, this time throwing herself onto the grass and sobbing.
I could not believe my eyes. No, this is not going to happen. I took Charlie aside. “You hurt her feelings. When she says hi to you, she is being nice. When you grunt, it makes her very sad. You need to use nice words with people.”
Nice words. That is the thing I ask for when they whine and I want them to say, “more please.” Nice words is what I ask for when they say, “go away,” or “you stink.” Mostly, I ask them to use nice words when they are tantrumming or sobbing or acting otherwise very dramatic and unattractive when a few choice words would sound so much prettier.
Charlie agreed to use nice words, likely afraid that I would take away his bike if he did not listen, and he ran back to play. Moments later:
Hi Charlie.
Hi Lucy.
Hi Charlie.
Hi Lucy.
This went on for quite some time. He would say hi back and then ride away. She would quickly follow him and say hi again.
Hi Charlie.
Hi Lucy.
He would ride away again, she would predict his destination, go a different way, and beat him there so that she could say Hi. “Hi Lucy,” he would say.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He heard the voice in his head telling him to use his words. So he turned to her and firmly said, “Lucy, no more hi's.”
She thought about this for awhile, then said, “ok.”
He was free. For three minutes. Then she approached him again, letting him know she still existed by saying hi. He said hi back, clearly afraid of losing his motorcycle.
I was so saddened to see how early the junior high stuff begins, and sadder even to realize that some day he will be on the receiving end of obligatory hi's.
Although my Charlie is not the alpha male of our group, his best friend Mikey is. Charlie and Mikey, the two oldest ones, are totally inseperable. When Mikey and Charlie are naughty at the kitchen table, the three younger ones follow. When they think of an imaginative way to play with Play-Doh and rubber bands, the other ones think it is genius and copy. But let's be clear: Mikey is the leader. Charlie is happy to follow.
When Mikey went on vacation last week, the group dynamic changed. Charlie became the leader. The others followed him around like he was the best thing since Tater Tots. They did whatever he said. One girl in particular was his new best friend, and he seemed to thoroughly enjoy her company. For a full week, she was his official sidekick.
But when Mikey returned, things were not pretty.
They were outside playing on their ride-on bikes as usual. It seemed like a normal day, the five kids playing together happily. I noticed Lucy seemed very emotional, and mysteriously burst into tears a few times, which is not terribly unusual for her. Each time I looked at her, she appeared to be uninjured, so I told her, "you're OK.”
But a few minutes later, she was once again devastated, practically drenched in tears. I approached her to ask what was wrong but she was so hysterical, she could not talk. So I sat back and watched. I watched her ride over to Charlie, and in her nicest, sweetest voice, say, “Hi, Charlie.”
He grunted. A deep, long lasting, gravelly grunt that said, “I am not interested in this right now.” Then he rode away.
Immediately she burst into tears again, this time throwing herself onto the grass and sobbing.
I could not believe my eyes. No, this is not going to happen. I took Charlie aside. “You hurt her feelings. When she says hi to you, she is being nice. When you grunt, it makes her very sad. You need to use nice words with people.”
Nice words. That is the thing I ask for when they whine and I want them to say, “more please.” Nice words is what I ask for when they say, “go away,” or “you stink.” Mostly, I ask them to use nice words when they are tantrumming or sobbing or acting otherwise very dramatic and unattractive when a few choice words would sound so much prettier.
Charlie agreed to use nice words, likely afraid that I would take away his bike if he did not listen, and he ran back to play. Moments later:
Hi Charlie.
Hi Lucy.
Hi Charlie.
Hi Lucy.
This went on for quite some time. He would say hi back and then ride away. She would quickly follow him and say hi again.
Hi Charlie.
Hi Lucy.
He would ride away again, she would predict his destination, go a different way, and beat him there so that she could say Hi. “Hi Lucy,” he would say.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He heard the voice in his head telling him to use his words. So he turned to her and firmly said, “Lucy, no more hi's.”
She thought about this for awhile, then said, “ok.”
He was free. For three minutes. Then she approached him again, letting him know she still existed by saying hi. He said hi back, clearly afraid of losing his motorcycle.
I was so saddened to see how early the junior high stuff begins, and sadder even to realize that some day he will be on the receiving end of obligatory hi's.
posted by Andrea at 8:36 PM
2 Comments:
Awww. Poor Charlie having to keep saying "hi" just to keep his bike. I totally get why he'd be running away! Jeez, Lucy needs to lay off!
Oh, the heartbreak! My Bub doesn't often go out of his way to initiate interaction with other children, so when he does say "hi" (often to a kindergarten-age girl, because he loves those) and doesn't get a response, it's all I can to stifle my mother-bear response. It's good to know that we are objective and unbiased, as parents, isn't it? Sounds like you did a good job of handling this one.
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