>I’m somewhat ashamed to say that I don’t often bring The Critters to the playground, even though with Bug holding my hand it’s just a two minute walk from our house. Last Friday was the perfect day to go, though; the weather was warm but not hot, cool but not chilly. Bear had no homework and we had nowhere to go for the afternoon. So when Bear and her friend, Kitty, came running in to ask if they could go play there I put on my shoes and headed out.
It turned out that most of the neighborhood kids were there that day, along with several of my neighborhood friends. As the kiddos played together we moms stood around discussing things like our plans for Thanksgiving, the price of tickets to watch an authentic sumo wrestling match, and how our toddler and preschool-aged sons call female anatomy Power Rangers and discuss the length of their own members in the mornings. You know, that kind of thing.
I watched as Bug climbed on playground equipment, sometimes needing my assistance and sometimes doing it on his own. I watched as he picked up a stick and played with his new ‘snake’; how he approached a just-turned-three-year-old friend of his who was playing on the tire swing. I imagine they were discussing their deep thoughts about the state of the economy and the inauguration of Afghanistan’s new president, but their politics must have been opposing: Bug’s Democratic views apparently clashed deeply with his friend’s more conservative Republican ideals.
As we watched, the older of the two boys got off the tire swing and began pushing Bug backward. Before his mom – a friend of mine whose husband works in Tony’s unit – and I could get there he’d pushed Bug until he fell completely backward, hitting his head on the ground. Given that he was still on the padded playground area I could tell that his feelings had been hurt much more deeply than any physical pain the attack might have caused. The look on my sweet boy’s face told it all: he couldn’t imagine what had happened that anyone would want to hurt him purposefully. (Anyone other than his stister, that is. He often serves as her “attacker” as she practices her “defensive” karate moves on him.)
So as my friend swiftly ushered her three young boys home I held my own sobbing Bug as he clung to me and cried for the injustice of it all. It hurts my heart that I can’t explain to him why people sometimes hurt others; it hurts my heart that I can’t explain this to myself, to be honest. But the look on his face was one of a bubble popping. No longer does he live in a world where all children say “Excuse me” or “I’m sorry” without being prompted to do so my their mommies and daddies. He no longer lives in a world where he can feel assured that the playground is neutral territory where he can feel free to approach another child without fear that he’ll be bullied around just because.
At least I was there to pick him up when he fell, to soothe his fears and wipe his tears as he clung to my shoulder, telling me, “I wan’ go home now.” And at least when he had gathered his wits about him, he felt comfortable enough to go off and play on his own again. Despite the politics, there will be more days on the playground.
Please click through to Critter Chronicles for pictures and more content.
Become a Fan of Critter Chronicles on Facebook
All content © HMGBlogs 2007-2011
>We're going through some playground challenges at school right now, but with the reporting coming from a four year old the details get messed up and we don't know exactly what is going on, other than our daughter feels sad and lonely at recess on occasion.
Posted by SciFi Dad | November 27, 2009, 07:12