I grew up in Parma on a little side street with two cul-de-sacs. In our neighborhood, plenty of kids played outside and interacted with my siblings and me. One girl was a little different, or at least we perceived her as different, and we weren’t always nice to her. Her grandparents lived on our street, and she played with us when she was visiting them. I remember spending time with her and trying to be nice/friendly, but she was sort of an odd duck. She said bizarre things, laughed at weird moments, and was unpredictable; she was a loose cannon. She tattled and often ruined our games. She was loud and whiny, and her social skills were off. I don’t think I was ever cruel to her, but I didn’t look forward to being with her either. I suppose I simply tolerated her and was sometimes kind to her. But the boys on our street could be and were sometimes really mean to her. 

I distinctly remember the day some of the boys smeared dog poop on her bike while she was playing in our backyard. I was with her at the time and had no idea they were doing what they were doing. When she saw (and smelled) what they did, she burst into tears and ran home. She left her bike propped against our house, and I remember looking at it and wondering what possessed them to be so mean. I don’t remember if I yelled at the boys, but I’m guessing I didn’t. Though I wasn’t cruel, I also wasn’t always assertive either. I was more of a watcher than a doer, and I’m sure it was easier to stay silent. Later, the girl’s father showed up and berated us. He was a tall man with piercing blue eyes, and I can still picture his face quite vividly. I remember feeling awful, and I remember that he shook with rage. He gesticulated wildly and struggled to say what he wanted to say. He sputtered on and on about how we treated her and how upset she was, and though he stammered and his thoughts came out all jumbled and disjointed, we got the point. I think the poor guy was close to crying. He wheeled the poop bike home and that was that. It didn’t mean much to me then, but it does now that I’m a parent. 

Ember Eve loves other little kids. When we’re at parties or get-togethers, she follows other kids and tries to interact with them, and it’s fun to watch her in social settings. But in the past two weeks, two kids have been mean to her. The first instance involved a kid about a year or so older than her. He had climbed up on an electrical box (or something like it) in the yard. She tried to climb up on it as well, and he kept pushing her away and telling her no. He was relatively forceful with her and pushed her in the face. She tried to climb up a few times before I reached her and gently pulled her away. When I steered her in a new direction, she kept turning to look at him, her face reflecting hurt and confusion. The second instance involved another child a few years older than her who purposefully closed a cooler first on her hand and then again on her head. She cried briefly but then acted as if nothing happened. The first instance involved emotional hurt and the second physical. Both times, I know that the kids were just being kids, and their intentions weren’t all that bad. Young kids communicate in weird ways, and their social interactions often involve hurting each other’s feelings. 

These instances were mild and really no big deal. These kids are young, baby bullies, and they didn’t mean anything by it. I know that. These incidents are nothing compared to the real bullying that occurs with older kids. But now I can’t stop thinking about all the kids who are bullied incessantly, and how hurt they feel on a daily basis. Maybe it’s because I’m a new mom or maybe it’s because I’m pregnant, but I can’t stand to think about kids hurting other kids. I don’t know how parents do it–the ones whose kids are bullied. How do they cope? How do they help their kids navigate these situations? It’s so difficult watching a child hurt another child, whether it be physically or emotionally. I felt powerless, even though I was right there and was able to console my kid. Ember Eve was just fine in both instances, and she’s young enough that she won’t remember either occurrence. But that won’t always be the case. 
I’ve been thinking about this lately, and I know that other kids will hurt Ember Eve. They will. They will call her names and shove her. They will pick on her for something (maybe her red hair or pale skin) and make her feel small and insignificant. They will make her doubt herself and her abilities. They will make her uncomfortable in her body and question her self worth. She will cry and it will be hard. And I’ll be there for it all, just as my mother was there for me. (I have a newfound appreciation for how my mother reacted and supported me when I was hurt.) I suppose all I can do is teach her not to be a bully and to handle bullies’ words and actions the best ways possible. 
I’d like Ember to be more assertive and confident than I was as a child. I hope she stands up to bullies in ways that I didn’t while still protecting herself. I wish I had stuck up for the poor girl with the poopy bike. I was kinder to her than most, but I wish I had done more. My sister would have if she had been there. She was much more vocal and confident than I was. I can’t do anything about it now except teach my kids not to be bullies and to stand up for and be kind to those who are being bullied. I’ll remind them to be kind to those who need it most, even when it’s hard. 

And when Ember Eve is bullied, I’ll do my best to console her and remind her that sometimes people are mean and that her worth is not defined by another’s thoughts and words. I will say that again and again if I have to. I will tell her every day that she is worthy, she is beautiful, and she is loved. 
(photo: July party)