Pinworms, Publishers and Bullies

Pinworms, Publishers and Bullies

I returned home last Sunday from an annual conference. Once a year I allow myself the luxury of putting on my “work hat,“ and playing grown up amongst fellow writers.
When I returned home, my family greeted me with the usual enthusiasm and pummeled me with anecdotes of their weekend adventures. My children recounted, with relish, stories of: staying up too late, eating gobs and gobs of junk food and other tales of falling outside the realm of healthy living. There were play-dates with children I normally consider off-limits and video games shunned from my video library. Although I am grateful for my husband’s “babysitting,” currently I am washing vegetables with anticipation of returning back to a state of food guidance adherence.
Monday, my normally joyful ten-year-old came home from school with tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her, as she plopped into my backseat, her face darker than the exhaust cloud trailing from her school bus.
“Can’t talk now,” she replied, crooking a finger towards her brother and his buddy.
I nodded understanding. Later. She’ll talk later.
An hour later, when the after school homework/snack dust had settled, I spoke with her in private. The problem, it seems, was a bully in school.
Last year, a friend of my daughters had suddenly become her worst enemy. The child, a friend and former classmate had suddenly turned a cold shoulder towards my daughter. There were incidents of bad-mouthing, an incident where she intentionally invited the entire class to her birthday party (with the exception of my daughter,) and continued ill will. She made it through the year, emotionally unscathed, but still hurt and confused by the child’s behavior.
Flash forward.
This year, my daughter has a new friend. She’s sweet and soft-spoken and kind to everyone. At recess, she likes to play with my daughter. And then the other girl and a pack of her friends arrive and the dynamic changes and my daughter feels left out.
The new friend is having a sleepover birthday party, my daughter informs me.
“That’s great,” I say in my optimistic mommy tone.
“No. It’s not. She’s worried about inviting me.”
Apparently, the girl with the problem and her clique of friends are pressuring my daughter’s friend not to invite her.
My daughter’s face is crestfallen. Sudenly, we are reliving the tragedy of last year. Worry knots her eyebrows and her stomach is upset. Later that evening, she’s groaning with stomach trouble. Even later we discover the cause of her discomfort:
Pinworms.
She lies in bed, unable to sleep. She’s scared and lonely and confused and I cannot console her.
What did I do wrong? The look on her face implies.
Nothing. Not a thing.
She’s sweet and kind and shouldn’t be worrying about these things.
But this is life. Sometimes people make others feel bad. For who they are. For what they wear. For what they believe. For…whatever.
In light of recent suicides, I worry about my child. In my day, I wasn’t exposed to bullying or cruel friendships. I grew up in the city and having not had a mother in my life, my friends seemed to protect me. They were kind, empathetic, caring. I naturally assumed, my daughter would have these kinds of friends too.
But sometimes I’m wrong.
I am sitting here, trying to finish the edits of my book when the phone rings.
It’s the school.
My daughter is sick and needs to be picked up. Maybe it’s the pinworms. Maybe it’s nerves. Either way, I go to her.
She needs me and I have to stop working.
I hit the send button. No editing. There are many mistakes in this e-mail.
Why have I sent it to you?
Because you know her.
Because you are a parent.
Because you are a teacher.
Because you have children of your own.
Because your child might be the one.