4/11/05
I'm going to have to lead every blog with "We Haven't Had The Baby Yet," aren't I? It doesn't matter, we feel totally blessed by so many well-wishers. We got some good news from the doctor today, i.e., things are progressing in the right direction, so we might actually have this thing before summer.
Mostly, I can't wait, but I'm still plagued by worries and self-doubt, and the usual ambivalence that accompanies anything worth giving your life to.
One thought that has really tainted my ability to be Super Psyched™ is this: whenever I let my mind drift into our baby's childhood – assuming we ever get there – I'm always left depressed and a bit shell-shocked at my own rotten time in grade school. Everyone says childhood is different now than it was in the 1970s, that many acts of bullyism and social injustice aren't tolerated in this era. There are better counselors, better drugs and better schools if the going gets really tough.
I want to believe that's true. My niece and nephew went to a Quaker Friends school in Massachusetts, and that place was a fuckin' miracle. They had Gay Pride week, they NEVER discriminated against my nephew for having half an arm (in fact, he was on the baseball AND basketball team) and the placed oozed with tolerance and brotherhood.
At MY grade school, having red hair and playing the violin were enough to condemn you to ritual beatings. Here's a few things about being an unpopular loser in school that you might not have known:
1. You're always in trouble. Sure, you didn't start it, but the teacher has little time to distinguish between bully and victim. All she knows is that you were present when the fight started. You will spend your time in the principal's office lobby with the bully, who will continue to detail how he's going to fuck you up by the bike rack as soon as you get out of there. Want to complain to the teacher? She will tell you, in not so many words, to FUCK OFF and stop whining so goddamn much.
I'd tried explaining this for years until "Welcome to the Dollhouse" came out and narrated the brutal truth: teachers are as much – or more – to blame for the brutalization of unpopular kids as the bullies themselves. They each tacitly buy into the pecking order and enforce it every chance they get.
2. You will get bad grades. You're way smart enough to excel in class, but the stress of being a reject is enough to put you off your game, and after three or four years, why should you try and do well at a place that wishes you would just go ahead and get hit by a bus?
3. Your parents can't do anything about it. Except send you to a private school, but if there's no money for that, you're stuck with the P.E. teachers that couldn't get a job stacking pins at a bowling alley. Parental involvement either ratchets up the abuse (because you're a fuckin' squealer) or just delays it for a few weeks before everyone returns to Business As Usual. Except that now you're also a fuckin' squealer.
4. Worst of All, You Don't Know Anything's Wrong. When you're a kid, you have the mentality of a family dog that wakes up to find that a leg has been amputated: "Well," it thinks, "I guess that's how things are now." You have no concept that your existence could ever be better, so you suffer through every indignity thrown at you because deep down you believe you deserve it. This is your lot in life. Nobody ever sits with you at lunch because... well, nobody ever sat with you at lunch. It isn't until you're in your mid-to-late thirties - finding yourself in bed, pissed off again about that shit Mrs. Norton pulled during Book Week in 1977, and writing a blog about it – that you understand those days for what they were.
But yes, I'm told things are better now. They had better be. BECAUSE I'M NOT GETTING OVER IT.
There will always be bullying and fear, as long as you have to wander into a lunchroom and ask some group or another if you can sit with them; as long as teachers still tell you to "pick partners" for a social studies project and you either aren't good friends with anyone in the class or have TWO good friends and you can't figure out which two in your group of three should get to pair off; as long as you can't think of the right sarcastic retort on time, or the way to be cool without being a follower.
If you're an adult and you don't like someone, you aren't forced to depend on them or sit next to them to get by. In school, you are REQUIRED to find people to fit in with, in order to survive.
The benefit is that it socializes you for later. It's a dubious benefit. If you are a geek, it teaches you to be less of one. If you can't dress, or if you always say the wrong thing, boy are you gonna learn, even if it takes most of school. Is that good, or bad?
When my half-sister was about four, she started talking about Pocohantas (the movie had just come out.) Her older brother - much older - who was 12, said to her, "Tammy, Pochahontas is your whole life." Her face fell, she said "Hey," and then she started crying. I told her brother that she was way too young and wasn't adapted to sarcasm.
But now, thanks to having had much older sibs, she's about 12 herself and is popular in school. She's very funny and kind and always knows the right sarcastic things to say. She knows which pop culture to pay attention to. She fits in well. I tend to believe it's because she was hypersocialized by older sibs before she ever had to deal with evil classmates.
Would it have been better if she was STILL a sweet girl who cried at sarcasm? Can you fit in and retain your sweetness? When I was in younger grades, people's sarcasm and teasing used to upset me (until I developed a sense of humor somewhere during college). Was I better then, or am I better now? Was it good that I got picked on?
"Bullying" is never obvious, so while it isn't tolerated now, (as you said) squealing and having the administrators deal with it is never going to make it better. In the movies, the bully is a huge older fat kid who terrorizes everyone and is finally brought to shame. It ain't that obvious, in most cases.
All of this (and sorry I took so long) brings me to this point...it doesn't matter if the schools are better now or the same as they used to be. You will be able to tell the signs if your kid is having a rough time, and you will be able to make her feel good enough about herself that she doesn't care, and you probably will know how to deal with the situation if something is wrong in school. I think your kid will benefit from your struggles, both from the person they made you and the understanding they gave you about what she might have to go through.
Yes, what she said. But as a vacuous side point: Hey, do you want your daughter to grow up to be entertaining at cocktail parties or not? Nietzsche says that which does not kill us makes us more charming between bouts of depression.
The good news is, Ian, that your own experiences are going to make you a very good parent. Take it from me, the mother of a son:
Never take anyone else's word over your own child's.
Never tell them them to "tough it out."
Always let them know you hear what they're saying.
Do something about it. Even if it means home schooling.
Nothing good comes from being bullied as a child.
Nothing.
Dress your daughter in North Carolina Tar Heels National Championship gear.
That way she will be socialized at an early age to feel and think like a champion and will never be without friends or admirers.
She'll also grow to hate dook.
Which is never a bad thing.
Good luck.
Ian, you are right about all of the above. I have to warn you though. . . you are about to be the parent of a GIRL, which may add a whole new dimension to your worries. The aggression and bullying that occurs among girls is a whole other ballgame, my friend. In your spare time, read Peggy Orenstein's "Schoolgirls" or Rachel Simmons "Odd Girl Out". Girls are much more subtle in their interactions/exclusions/slights towards each other. It is all very subtle and insidious and often falls under the radar of most teachers and parents. At least boys know which kid wants to beat them up, and they know why (red hair, violin, etc). For girls, it is often a mystery why they are suddenly excluded from their circle of friends or why they are not invited to a party. Girls are just plain mean! No girl reaches high school unscathed!
I barely escaped the horrors of the Middle School Mean Girls, and to be honest, when I learned I was pregnant with a girl, it struck fear in my heart. I just knew what was ahead. I see it already in kindergarten, and when Helen cries on the way home from school that Molly told her that Helen is not her best friend anymore, I want to scratch Molly's eyes out for hurting my baby's feelings. Nonetheless, Helen is stronger for the experiences she has, and it is all one big life lesson.
The best I can do is to instill in her the belief that she is the most wonderful little person in the world and foster her self-confidence and self-love so that when she does encounter the Mean Girls (and she will), they can't chip away at her self-image and make her insecure.
I think Oliver is on to something. I wonder if those of us who had wretched childhoods are somehow...changed by it. Maybe it subtly alters our fundamental dispositions (one of the things that amazes me most about kids is how much of their personality comes hardwired, even in infancy). I won't venture to suggest that torment improves us, or toughens us--although I did learn how to kick boys and scratch girls (after a basketball in the face, say, or getting spat upon)--but maybe it can make us more sensitive to others' feelings, more introspective, more thoughtful. Some people turn it into humor. Some people turn it into amazing blogs (thank you, Ian). And I don't know anything about parenting, outside of what I've observed, but maybe it enhances mothering or fathering abilities, because we're still in touch with the negative potential of childhood, rather than an idealized version.
While trying not to offend my many teacher friends, I think a lot of why some teachers sign off on the treatment of unpopular kids (from what I remember) is that they themselves were in that role when in school. He're is their chance to get some validation from the "cool kids" albeit 10-20 yrs later.
I fear I will be the "helicopter mom" that can't handle seeing her kid bullied or upset and will go out and kick some little 8 year old's ass. I already give the evil eye to whatever 2 year old comes up and takes his toys from him!
Only now reading your blog does it dawn on me that the teachers really were in on the shit back in the 70s school days. Our red-headed kid had the double-whammy of having the last name "Raper" (whose root word was used more lightly in the 70s and that still disturbs me to no end), and had the ever-popular 70s ailment "hypertension" for which he took mysterious looking medication.
Being a few steps above him allowed me to watch the beatings while being uncool and very, very small meant I better not be too close lest I be beat myself (on a side note, this seems to be my role in life).
Your blog gave me one of those analyst moments where a memory flooded back to me. I actually remember a teacher laughing when we told her that the kid had gotten beaten up and that's why he hadn't returned from recess. She knew it happened every day. She didn't care. I'm pretty sure she didn't like the kid either but she sure didn't do anything to help him.
I can only hope he turned out a)changing his name b) having as good a life in his 30s as you seem to be having.
Given my chubby, bespectacled childhood in a blue-collar Detroit suburb, these are the two words that *always* come to mind when I contemplate the development of my (theoretical future) children, *especially* a daughter: MARTIAL ARTS!
Fantastic blog.
One thing I always ask myself; would I do anything different or have any situation work out different if it meant risking who I have become today? Some days, most days, the answer to that question is a screaming YES YES!, but in the last year or so, the answer has consistently been NO. Happiness is the best revenge, and I think probably we both should realize that what we went through in school helped us, in some way, become the awesome dudes we are. Tessa and Jordana wouldn't like us if we hadn't had our asses kicked somewhere along the way.
Oh, and by the way... NERD!!!!
As a fellow Junior High School Survivor, I wonder what would be worse: having a kid who was bullied or having the bully.
I weep at your childhood school stories, because they mirror my own experiences.
Send your child to karate classes.
Hey, Ian--remember V-X? His adorable bespectacled boy has been targetted by bullies for years now, and has been regularly punished by teachers for getting beat up, and is probably on the list of potential school shooters, while the bullies received no punishment. I shit you not.
It's WORSE now than it was. Nowadays, if the child looks like he might be angry for having been used as a punching bag, the teachers will be looking for excuses to kick him out of school entirely.
Do your child a favor. Get her into junior martial arts as soon as she's old enough to walk. Just the confidence of knowing that she can defend herself will make her less of a target.
I swear, my baby girl will grow up to be able to kick the ass of at least half the boys in her third-through-eighth grade classes. Kicking ass may not be "nice", but it's nice to know you can.
If it's any comfort about the pregnancy, my redhead was two weeks late, and hated every minute of the extra time. It was worth it.
Ian, this entry brought up some strong emotions for me. I, too, was bullied mercilessly in elementary school. I was smaller than all the other boys (and most of the girls), bespectacled, the best student, and on top of everything else, the only Tar Heel fan in a school full of Virginia Cavalier fans. I was teased, humiliated, beaten, kicked and subjected to all manner of mean tricks. My mother always told me it was because their parents were asking them why they couldn't be more like me, but this was small solace to a wounded little boy. Well, now at least fifteen percent of them are incarcerated and precious few of them sport college degrees. Yet I still haven't gotten over the wounds. Maybe I never will. I feel your pain. With your daughter, all you can do is your best. With your unique perspective on how the grade school years can go awry, she can only benefit. Best wishes.
Martial arts won't necessarily help a girl. Girls don't usually beat each other up. Instead, they say "Ooh, I looooooove your shoooes, where did you get them?" and then look at each other and giggle. Or they find 1,000 other ways to torment you. If they come and lay a hand on you, then you're actually lucky!
Oh, sorry to post one more time today, but I just have to do this:
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeinerdog! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeinerdog!
Whew.
Boy or girl, she'll have to find her own way, and as we all know, it won't always be easy.
I recommend:
- unconditional love, she she'll learn to love herself and never doubt that she's worthwhile;
- plenty of time with other kids in the preschool years, so she'll learn social skills;
- freedom to "follow her bliss" (within reasonable limits, of course), so she'll "be all that she can be" (without having to go into the army, LUMB as they say).
I think y'all will do great, and with some luck, so will she.
But a lot of it will be up to her, and I think that can be hard to accept.
I was an utter geek until halfway through high school (when I became a semi-geek), so I can empathize a bit with the awfulness of school children's behavior toward one another and the (sometimes unconscious) complicity of adults In Charge.
However. I want to suggest to anyone who is about to become a parent, who thinks they may become a parent, or who has recently embarked on the parenting adventure: Please try really hard not to lay the template of your own experiences and personality on your child's life. Yes, I know YOU know this and I don't mean to be condescending. But IME (and my kids are now 19, 14, and 12) I find it's healthy to assume from the outset that your kid's experience is going to be as unique as he or she is. He/she is not you. He/she will develop a totally original personality. His/her environment most likely will be substantially different in a zillion ways from the one in which you grew up.
This is not to minimize the sadism, cliqueishness, and, well, Darwinian heartlessness of kids in schools and camps; nor is it intended to overgenerously credit the competence and open-mindedness of teachers and administrators. There are times when of *course* we parents have to involve ourselves in helping our kids sort out their lives and stand up for themselves. Sometimes we have to fight for our kids against bureaucracy and ignorance. As the mom of a child with a learning disability, I have fought relentlessly (some would say obnoxiously) for his rights.
One of the great things about having two adopted kids is that I never assumed they would be anything like me. I had no physical or psychological template for how they would look or act; what strengths or fears they would be hardwired with; what talents or shortcomings they'd evidence. Having always felt somewhat burdened by my parents' expectation that my (groan) "good genes" would translate into resounding overachievement (ha ha), I realized when we adopted how liberating my parental lack of assumptions could be -- for parent *and* child. I have tried to be as nonpresumptuous about, and surprised by, our biological son's qualities as I am of our adopted kids'.
Ian: an adult who is caring, aware, and loving, and who basically likes himself -- yeah, an adult like YOU -- will find the right balance of sangfroid and sensitivity when it comes to raising your Peanut. The world is thorny but not inevitably unkind. Rejoice in the good start this baby will have, and the power she'll derive from those who will love her. And -- remember to have fun. ;-)
Try this on for injustice:
In sixth grade, the female students discovered that if they randomly showed up to school with cookies and the like, they could effectively con the teacher into allowing them to have a "party" in the afternoon. What a scam! It worked beautifully until the principal got wind of the deal and put the kibosh on the whole affair. "No parties. Period." Weeks later, several girls, myself included, desperately wanted to host a legitimate party for our teacher's birthday. We went to the popular teacher next door to ask special permission. We begged and pleaded, and she finally agreed. The day of the party, we brought our treats to surprise our teacher and the class. That afternoon as we partied our little 6th grade hearts out with all the sugar we could eat, the principal walked by and got a glimpse of our shenanigans. He flew into a rage and hauled us offenders into his office. As a child who lived well under the discipline radar, I was horribly afraid, but I clung to the notion that the popular teacher had given us her permission, so everything would be okay. When we attempted to relay this information to the principal, he called the teacher into his office, and in front of all of us children, who idolized this woman, she said, "No sir, I have no idea what they are talking about. I never told them it was okay to have a party." Needless to say, we were both shocked and scared because if someone we trusted so fully could let us down so miserably, what would the rest of the world be like for us?
While going through junior high school and the such totally sucked, I can now look back on it and apply this formula:
Pain + Time = Comedy
For a time in the 8th grade, I thought my name actually WAS Andy Fagwell.
I never knew a redhead that didn't fight his way to the top of the "pecking order". Coming from an Irish neighborhood, redheads were not an endangered species either. You must have defective genes. Just kidding.
I'm still scared of redheaded women especially....
Ian, badbob has gotta be xtcian's most disturbing lurker by far. On behalf of me and in the name of all that is good and euphemistic in this BUSH-league world, can I ask badassbob to kindly reboard the badbobbusback under his badassrockscrack? Congenial Bb, I'll see your defective, I mean defecative sense of humor in the funny papers man.
Smarmy bastard'll probably send Tessa some flowers to the hospital. DickToast.
Bully Lamaze Voice:
Heels rule, others drool, Push that baby outta you!
I like ol' Badbob. Just not his politics.
1) I am Ian's most disturbing lurker, dammit.
B) Like badbob, I thought redhead = bully then I was a kid. Maybe some mixture of anti-Irish workingclass stereotypes from the Little Rascals/Warner Brothers era plus a few run-ins with actual redhaired bullies led to that opinion. Maybe bb has said other disturbing things, but I don't see this as offensive.
iii) Great entry, Eyeon. And I am now throughly depressed in a way that the fact that the country is sloutching towards Bethlehem doesn't inspire. Personally, I'm equally terrified of Jack living the childhood you write about and of overcompensating and raising a psychotic fighter instead of a target loser.
Fourthly, if there really are potential stalkers out there, let me mention now that I live near Ian and am more than happy to break their stalker legs if need be.
How's that for a bundle of contradictions?
What they don't tell you is that pregancy is the easy part. You are in complete control of EVERYTHING, and you don't realize until it's over how very comforting that is. From then on, it's all about learning to let go; a little more every few months. Scary, scary business. No wonder so many parents are co-sleeping these days.
A friend has a great blog entry up about playground bullies today: http://unfurnishedbrooklyn.typepad.com/ufb/