|
The other day, while visiting Jordan’s home in Vermillion, she told me
about an incident that occurred at her apartment playground. It involved
my granddaughter, Peyton, who (in her Grandma Marcie’s eyes) is an
absolute angel, and caused me to get a bit riled up! It seems that there
is a little boy who lives next door that was giving the aforementioned
granddaughter some grief and making her cry repeatedly. Well, there is
nothing that causes a mother’s (or grandmother’s) hackles to rise faster
than finding out her child is being picked on. This little brat, er, I
mean boy, was telling Peyton that she couldn’t play with him because she
was too little. This made her cry, then he told her the song she was
playing on her guitar was stupid…that made her cry…then she ran to the
swings and wanted her mom to push her and he had the audacity to push
her out of the way, jump into the swing and demand to be pushed instead.
Again, she cried. Jordan’s thought bubble above her head was saying,
“yeah, I’ll push you, you little snot…I’ll push your face into the
sand!” But in reality she said “No, I will NOT push you.” Then he again
teased Peyton about being smaller and Jordan tried to reason with him, a
4 year old. She told him that Peyton was, in fact, bigger than he was
and proved it by standing them side by side. He came back with “nuh
huh…I’m almost 5 and she’s only 3!” “Yes,” Jordan replied, “You are
older, but you’re not bigger….Peyton is”…Well, he refused to listen to
reason and made her cry some more.
Oh, this takes me back to days of yore. Who hasn’t been picked on from
time to time? I can recall many a slumber party sleepover where the
girls would play nicely for a short time, and before long there was
usually a falling out over something minor, but it escalated into name
calling and a choosing of sides. I was always the one staying out of the
fracas. While the others were name calling and hurling insults, I stayed
quiet and in the background, therefore protecting myself from the
vicious onslaughts. I was like the “Switzerland” of the slumber party
crowd. This is where I believe the birth order of a child comes into
play.
I think first borns, like Peyton, are more sensitive to name calling and
teasing. They aren’t used to having someone insult them or pick on them.
A good case in point, is Ryan…he was basically with adults, segregated
from normal childhood activities out here on the prairie for his first
five years. He didn’t really know how to interact with children,
especially boisterous ones. Ryan liked to collect He-Man characters and
had the whole Castle Grayskull setup with most of the figures and
weapons, a child’s dream come true. His way of playing with it was to
set it up and pose the figures. Period…that was it. One day, a neighbor
boy came over to play and wanted to get all the He-Men out. Ryan eagerly
set the castle up, and posed his Evil Lynn and Skeletor and all the
rest. “OK, let’s start playing”, said Derek. Ryan just sat there,
stumped. In his opinion they HAD been playing. What else was there to do
with these toys? Derek started fighting with the toys, making up a whole
scenario and I watched as Ryan sat there, perplexed. If someone on the
bus made a cruel remark to him, Ryan’s feelings were very hurt. He just
simply didn’t know how to react to teasing or being pushed around. Now,
a second child gets a bit more used to this as they are repeatedly
taunted from a very young age by an older sibling. Another case in
point…Ryan again. He loved to make Jordan cry and cry she did.
Everyday…many times everyday…she really was a crybaby and he loved being
the instigator. One day, Jordan had been unusually jolly…she hadn’t
fallen and gotten hurt, she hadn’t been hit, pinched, teased or any of
the other reasons she had for bawling. It was nearly evening and no
tears! Ryan even commented on it…”Hey, Jordan hasn’t cried yet today!”
and with that, he shoved her off the couch and was tickled to see her
burst into tears. A day without Jordan crying was like a day without
sunshine in his eyes. One day, years later during the summer vacation,
Jordan had a large group of her friends come over for a day of swimming
and fun. Ha! Like all of my childhood slumber parties, this was no
different. It wasn’t long before the group divided into two warring
factions and it was up to me to try to keep the peace. One group would
be in the pool and the other playing with some toys and the pool group
would holler a slanderous comment and splash water at them and the
others would plot their revenge. It was a long afternoon and I didn’t
soon offer to host another get together for girls.
Now, we move on to the last borns like myself and Alex and you will find
a much less confrontational person. Anyone who has older siblings learns
really fast how to avoid getting beaten and teased. I hated conflict and
would avoid it at all costs. I still do to this day. Ask anyone who
knows me…do I ever fly off the handle and yell and scream and chew
people out? No…I hold all my angst deep inside and instead, write stupid
columns full of nonsense. The baby of the family learns to use humor as
a tactic for avoiding conflict. One that works well is self deprecating
humor. Make fun of yourself first, then nobody else can do it. For
example: if you think you have a big butt and you are afraid someone may
comment on this, just say something like, “I need a new dress for that
wedding next weekend…I’d better head over to the camping department and
see if they have any tents on sale!” or something to that effect. It
takes all the wind out of a bully’s sails if they can’t make you upset.
I never had to worry much about Alex being picked on. He rode the school
bus and was subjected to taunting by the older kids, just like anyone
else, but he wouldn’t take anybody’s crap for long. I recall him being
in about the 2nd grade and a boy a bit older kept flicking Alex’s
earlobe all the way home. Alex tried the “ignore the pest” tactic as
long as he could, then he turned around, grabbed the boy around the
throat and choked him until he was near tears. I was afraid Alex would
be in for a real fight the next day, but lo and behold, this boy left
him alone and they later became friends! It takes a lot to get Alex
riled up, just like his ma! I have to tell a cute story about him when
he was just a little boy, though. He loved to play with farm toys and
had this elaborate Ertl farm setup with a barn, silo, fences, animals
and all the machinery a good farmer would ever need. His favorite thing
in the world was to set up his farm and pretend to bring in the harvest.
The only thing that made it even more fun was if big brother and sister
would play with him. Well, those two hated nothing more than playing
with that farm. Once in a while, they would take pity on the poor little
fella and play farm with him, but usually they told him to bug off. On
one such occasion, Alex begged and begged them to play “harm” with him
(he had a speech impediment). They refused and a bitter, dejected little
Alex said “I won’t pay wiss oo edder, edder again iss oo be mean to me!”
Translated, this reads “I won’t play with you ever, ever again if you be
mean to me!’ which suited them just fine as they didn’t ever want to
play with him anyway. I just had to throw that in as I thought it was so
cute.
So what advice did I give to my little three year old granddaughter as
to how to handle this neighborhood bully? Did I tell her to ignore his
taunts? Did I advise her to try to reason with him? No…I will shamefully
admit that I came up with some nasty names that she could call him. I
told her if he ever picks on her again she should call him a big, fat,
pig. And a stupid beast and anything else that didn’t have actual foul
words involved. Peyton’s eyes lit up with anticipation! She thought
about it for a minute, then came up with the most slanderous name her
little mind could think up. “I’ll call him a Poopyhead” she gleefully
cried! Obviously, Poopyhead is a horribly derogatory name in the three
year old set. She was so excited and could hardly wait until the next
confrontation to sling her vicious, vile insult in this boy’s face.
Was that the best way to handle the situation? Probably not…but that
little boy had better learn…you don’t mess with girls, especially when
they’re bigger than you. And you don’t piss off a little girl’s
grandma…after all, Hell hath no fury as a grandmother scorned!
|
|
