I
once had the dubious honor of calling a mother to talk to her about
her daughter’s behavior. Having married into the ballet cartel,
I found myself pressed into service even though I cannot dance,
teach, or sew. I can however say “no” and since I have
that rare gift I am the official sayer of “no” for my
sister-in-law’s ballet studio.
I
was not, sadly, calling to compliment the mother on her daughter’s
stellar behavior. I was calling to request that perhaps her little
darling could keep her hands and critical thoughts to herself. We
have a firm “no bullies” policy at the studio. Hitting or
making fun of other girls is a definite no-no. Frankly, this
particular little girl had burned through a whole class worth of
second chances.
I
tried to be as kind as I could. I said some nice things about the
slappy ballerina. I said some nice things about the mother. It didn’t
go very well but I did my level best to be kind.
Kindness
was particularly important to me because some years ago, I was the
mother getting the call. Bullying
has become a much talked about subject. I think we all agree that
bullying is bad. We talk about how to treat victims of bullying. We
talk about how parents and schools can keep their kids from being
bullied. We can give exhaustive details about unkind incidents that
have happened to our children.
We
tell our children that bullies are just insecure. We tell our
children that the bully is just jealous. We tell our children that
bullies just aren’t very happy inside. We hug them and tell
them how wonderful they are, how cherished and special.
Yes,
we all want to deal with bullying when our kids are the victims.
My
little bully didn’t have a mean bone in her body. Also, she
probably didn’t have any bones in her body. She was comprised
entirely of noise and springs. She had a head of fat curls and every
bit of her was just as bouncy.
We
liked her that way, of course. We thought she was adorable and
charming. We saw her sweet little heart and loved her for it. Other
people saw the equivalent of Tigger on crack and thought she was a
little difficult. She would bounce into kids and hurt their feelings.
She would disrupt anything that was going on. She would pester other
kids until they were in tears.
One
day, I got a phone call. If she could not let other little dancers do
their work, she could not go back to ballet.
We
worked really hard with her. We went over proper behavior. We had her
practice. Her best friend (who is the best of best friends forever)
helped her know when she was getting out of hand. After every class
she called and reported to Grandma.
Church
wasn’t much better. One year she had a teacher that cheerfully
informed us that she and her husband would get our little tornado
under control. That was not a fun year. We tried to work with our
girl. We felt like the teacher was unfair. She would give us notes
after each class of what our girl had done wrong.
It
was not our favorite year.
Our
Sunshine girl is all grown up now. She is beautiful. She is still a
force of nature. She is universally loved. She is a hard worker, the
truest of friends, and a lover of the challenged and downtrodden. She
did stay in ballet. She overcame. Her perfect heart shines for
everyone to see.
We
get compliments about her all the time. People tell us we should be
proud of her. We always have been, even when other people couldn’t
see it.
Hooray
for the parents of the bad kids. Hooray for the mom who will walk
into school with a smile on her face when she is there to meet the
principal for the umpteenth time.
Hooray
for dads that see their daughters’ perfect hearts and love them
for it even on bad days. Hooray for the mothers that field calls that
begin with “I thought you’d want to know…”
Hooray for the parents who honestly do want to know.
Hooray
for the parents who keep trying.
Hooray
for the mom who marches her kid over to the neighbors to confess
misdeeds and then hugs him when they get home. Hooray for the dad
that sits in court with his favorite shoplifter. Hooray for the
parents who promised a tiny baby a lifetime of love and care and then
keep that promise when no one else can see anything to love or care
about.
Hooray
for the mother who is trying to teach her little boy that hitting
makes his friends go away. Hooray for the dad taking his little
tornado hiking. Hooray for the parents who can cheer for a hard
earned “C.”
You
are doing a great job.
I
am a grown-up bad kid. I was rotten to my parents and siblings. I was
rotten to other people. When I got kicked out of school for drinking,
my mom took me on a trip where I ended up working in a soup kitchen.
She never excused bad behavior, but she never let any of us be
defined by just the bad.
This
summer, I tried to apologize to my mom for being such a bad kid. She
looked at me with wonder and said, “I always thought you were
just wonderful.”
I am me. I live at my house with my husband and kids. Mostly because I have found that people
get really touchy if you try to live at their house. Even after you explain that their towels are
fluffier and none of the cheddar in their fridge is green.
I teach Relief Society and most of the sisters in the ward are still nice enough to come.