This post is in honor of St. John Bosco, whose feast day is January 31, and who had a soft spot in his heart for the kids who didn't behave.
***
It was one of those conversations that I’ll never forget,
and it completely changed my perspective on parenting.
“This is hard,” she began, and I knew at that moment that
this phone call from one of my closest friends was not going to be pleasant.
Two days before, she and I and a couple of other mothers
with small children had gathered at the playground for one of our weekly
play dates. We’d formed a tight-knit group
of friends who were all stay-at-home moms navigating the challenges of
parenting young children. We all had so
much in common. We believed in letting
children learn through play, we loved the outdoors, we practiced healthy lifestyles, and we all wanted to
instill in our children a sense of adventure. Even more, we were all transplants
in this small community where making new friends was difficult, so we greatly
valued the friendship we’d found in each other.
But that day at the playground, everything changed when my
son got rough with my friend’s child at the top of the slide. I saw none of it, as I sat on a blanket with
my 8 month old and fed him crackers, but my friend saw it, and it frightened
her as she watched her 2 year old nearly get pushed off the top of the slide by
my 6 year old. Nobody got hurt that day.
My son was reprimanded by me when I learned that he was bullying at the top of
the slide, and then he and the 2 year old played nicely the rest of the
morning. But for my friend, who had
witnessed my son’s aggressiveness and extreme behaviors before, it was
enough. She was calling me now to tell
me that she would no longer be allowing her children to play with mine.
I hung up the phone and my husband walked in. I looked at him and began sobbing as I shared
the conversation with him. My son saw
me crying and when I explained to him that his closest friends would no
longer be playing with them anymore, he began sobbing, too. “Why?”, he'd asked. “Because of the way you behave,”
I told him, and he just looked puzzled.
My heart broke, not only because I had lost one of my closest friends, but
also because I knew my son had no idea what he had done wrong. I couldn’t tell my friend it wouldn’t happen
again because I knew it could, and there was nothing I could really do about
that. No amount of consequence,
discipline, or reprimand was going to turn my special needs child into a child
like hers.
That was the end of that play group. The other moms and my friend continued to
meet for play dates after that, but we were no longer invited. To my friend’s
credit, she at least had the courage to call and explain to me why she was
ending our relationship. The other
mothers simply became silent, and the efforts I made over the next few months
to continue those friendships went unrequited. I had thought we had so much in
common, but I now knew there was one very big difference, and that difference
had changed everything.
I had tried to explain that to my friend that day on the
phone. I tried to explain that my son
would never want to hurt anyone, that he has moments of anxiety that take
control of him. I apologized for his
behavior that day at the playground and all the many times before. I assured her we were working on it, that we
were seeing psychiatrists, doctors, therapists, and that we were still trying to
find the right cocktail of medications and diet changes that would help. I
promised to try harder to keep an eye on him on play dates. I agreed that she had every right to be
upset. I understood why she’d want to
put distance between her children and mine.
I really did.
That was the last time we really spoke. She retreated to her world of neurotypical
children, and I retreated to mine. After
that, I stopped trying to form friendships with mothers of young children. We stopped going to story hour at the library,
stopped having friends over to play, took our kids out of CCD, and didn’t even
consider having them involved in Boy Scouts or most other group
activities. I was grateful we
homeschooled for many reasons, not the least of which, I would not be getting
phone calls from the school about my child’s behaviors, and rumors about my
children would not circulate in the public school system of our small town.
I isolated myself and my children, convinced that no mother
would want their children influenced by mine. They did not live in the world I
was living in and would not understand.
So, instead of finding friendship with other mothers of young children,
I began to look for friendship with older women who did not have children at
home. I was blessed to find a few, and
these sweet older ladies accompanied me and my kids on hikes, field trips, and
sometimes just visited my home to play with my boys and give me a break. They did not judge my kids or throw away our friendship,
in part because they were past the days of raising their own children (days
that they truly missed), and in part, because they valued their friendship with
me and weren’t just in it for their kids.
As time went on, my son’s behavior slowly began to
improve. Two years now since that phone
call, I’m proud to say that he plays well with others and is a real
charmer. The anxiety is still there,
but he works hard to keep it in check, especially in social situations. With time, we are optimistic that he will get
even better at channeling it in less destructive and aggressive ways. We have started having friends with young children
again, we've returned to CCD class, and we go to the library programs regularly.
They love having friends over to our home to play, and they look forward to
homeschool co-op every week.
But I will never forget that phone call. The pain that came when another mother, for
whom I had the utmost respect, decided that my children were a bad influence on
hers, was a blow that I never saw coming.
We were both giving 110% to parenting our children, and her children
reflected that, but mine did not, and that hit me like a ton of bricks. For two years after that, I felt like a
parenting failure, and both I and my family suffered as a result.
Of course, I am not a parenting failure, although if you
judge parenting by the way a child behaves, you may think that. I’m the mother of very special children with
very difficult challenges. It’s not
pretty and it is not fun. There is very little joy in parenting such difficult
children. Raising children with these
issues is not something I chose, nor wanted. But in the process, I have learned
such a very important lesson. My entire
perspective has changed now when I see a poorly behaved child. I feel empathy
for that child, and in particular, for his mother. Much like nobody wants to be a drug addict, nobody
wants to be the parent of one. No child wants to live in a perpetual state of
dysregulation and mental anguish, and trust me, nobody wants to be the parent
of one of those, either. But sadly, the number of all of these types of
situations is increasing at significant rates.
How are we going to respond?
I don’t think completely separating ourselves from those who
are not the “kind of people we want to be around” is the best answer. This is not what I want to teach my
children. Right now, I do not tell my
children that they can not play with certain kids, and I am most grateful for
any mother who allows her children to play with mine. I do not cut off friendships if someone is
not living the kind of lifestyle that I agree with, or raising their children
the way I think they should. Do I have a
duty to protect myself and my children from physical and spiritual harm? Of course!
But surely we can find ways to do so without completely severing
relationships and segregating ourselves.
Boundaries are important, but there is always a cost when we put them in
place. Too often, we are quick to move
away instead of towards those who challenge us.
Yes, I am still relatively new at parenting and as my
children mature, and little problems turn into big problems, my perspective may
change again. But for now, I let my kids
play with the "bad kids". I let their
interactions become “teachable moments”.
I recognize that many of these young children struggle just like my kids
do with mental health issues that aren’t easily resolved, but also, that aren’t
contagious. I want to remain friends with the mother whose child spit on mine,
or whose son pushed mine, or kicked him, and I want to offer her my empathy,
not disdain. I do not condone or ignore the
behaviors, but I understand where the behaviors may be coming from because I
have been on that side. I have been the
mother of the kid who can't behave, and it has taught me my greatest lesson in humility yet.
St. John Bosco, pray for us.
