Just lather up
that “Kick Me” sign and glue it my back.
To be fair, I
have a lot of wonderful memories too (and I graduated from grade school with
several friends). But getting made fun of had a long-lasting affect on me, one
I didn’t shake until adulthood. It’s something that I pray my own kids never go
through.
Which bring us
to the other day: Recently I was invited to help with my eldest daughter’s
grade school Walk-a-Thon fundraiser. I agreed to help chaperone because 1) I
like doing helpful things, 2) I completely underestimated how far they planned
to walk and 3) my wife implied there’d be post-walk bacon treats, which I later
found out was a ruse. Most important, though, it gave me an opportunity to spy see my daughter in action with her
Kindergarten classmates.
As we left the
school and headed out on our journey, I, along with the teachers and other
chaperones, guided the kids along the path and reminded them of the rules:
·
Stay on the
sidewalk
·
Stay out of
people’s lawns
·
Wave to
people in cars who honk at us
·
Don’t wave
to people in cars who honk at other cars
·
Don’t mimic
hand gestures from people in cars who honk at other cars
·
Wipe snotty
noses on your own sleeves
My daughter, the
sweetheart that she is, held my hand for the first 10 minutes of the walk. I’d
like to think it was because she loved me, but in truth, I think it was because
she forgot her gloves and it was pretty cold outside. I had forgotten mine too,
so it was a bonus. Eventually, though, she broke away from my grip and trotted
off with her friends. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were all
giggling and smiling and having a good time. This truly warmed my heart (but
not my hands—seriously, it was freaking cold).
I talked with
the teacher for a bit, who was very complimentary of my daughter, telling me
how well she’s doing in class. I talked with the priest, who assured me that
with enough prayer I’d be able to survive the walk even if there were no bacon
treats at the end of it. I even chatted with several other Kindergarteners, all
of whom claimed to be
Spider-Man. This was ridiculous, of course, because secretly I am Spider-Man. (Keep that on the
down-low, though. Don’t want to be mobbed by fans.)
About halfway through
the walk I noticed my daughter was still laughing with her friends. I slowed
down a bit to try and overhear what they were laughing about. I finally got
close enough to hear what my daughter was saying to her friends.
“Don’t walk
behind my dad. He’s stinky! And he has big feet too!”
My own little
Judas was selling me out. She and her classmates weren’t making fun of each
other. They were making fun of me. That’s how they were bonding. I know they were just being silly,
but a little part of me—that five-year-old with the lame video game remote
control—was crushed.
I contemplated
saying something. I also contemplated giving them something stinky to really
complain about. I contemplated a lot because I wasn’t quite sure how to handle
this situation. On one hand, I don’t want her poking fun at others. On the
other hand, we poke fun at each other all the time at home. If only I had a
third hand that could tell me what to do.
That’s when the
third hand I needed arrived: It was my daughter’s and she slid it back into
mine.
“Daddy, I was
just kidding. I know you’re not stinky. I love you.”
And with that,
my worries started to evaporate. I know over the years most kids get heckled
some. It’ll probably happen to my kids too. I just hope I’m able to teach my
girls how to deal with it and not let it bother them, and how to be
compassionate toward others and treat them with kindness. I can’t control the
future but I can sure do my best to guide my kids on the path to be good human
beings. And that’s what I intend to do.
“But you do kind
of have big feet.”
If only there
were post-walk bacon treats to drown my sorrows in.
ORDER NOW (GREAT GIFT FOR PARENTS): Oh Boy, You're Having a Girl
(A Dad's Survival Guide to Raising Daughters)
******
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