Just when I think I'm safe, something happens to drag me back and remind me that I am, in fact, a socially awkward nightmare. So the last few posts have been about the joys of finding friends in the yard, and how much fun we have once we're out of the school gates. This is the norm, a typical school run in which we use our new fangled glossary to talk gibberish and make the daily chore of dragging our children in and out of school more bearable. But that was not this day.
Fans of my awkward encounters and reoccurring foot-in-mouth disease should hold on tight - this one is up there with Arsene the cat and telling my male doctor that my husband's chances of procreation rest entirely on his ability to not annoy me. Top up your glass... I know I have.
Backstory. Every good tale needs backstory. So, Dylan. My boy. My pride and joy. I would do anything for him, even if it means knocking a few heads together if I get the slightest hint that he's being hurt or upset in some way. However, the knocking together of heads of 6 year olds doesn't sit well on a resume of someone who wants to teach said 6 year olds at some point in the future. So I didn't knock heads together. I did the proper mum thing. I spoke to Dylan. Not as an adult. "She did what? Fuck her off mate. Don't need that in your life. Move on, and flick her the Vs on your way." But also, not as baby. "Awww Boo-Boo, just play nicely for mummy, OK?" No, I spoke to him as I assumed it was safe to speak to a 6 year old. With honesty.
So, he was having trouble with a girl in school. They were best friends one minute, mortal enemies the next. A fair amount of tears were shed - daily - about what new name she had called him, or how she had squeezed him too tightly, or how she tells him who he can and can't play with, or threatening to cry if he goes to Friendship Club during lunch break, or... You get the idea. We all know girls and indeed adults like this. "My way or the highway". Nothing wrong with it, if that's your way, but there's the highway, and that's my exit. Keep your drama, I'm outta town. You get the picture. So I pretty much told Dylan this. Keep your distance if she gets a bit too much. Don't let her dictate your happiness.
Sound advice, I thought. Well done me, for not knocking any heads together. I didn't lose my temper about her - even though I was often close because of how upset she was making my first born. His biggest bugbear was that she wouldn't let him play his choice of game, or with his friends from his class. So I just said, and I quote, "If someone upsets you, don't play with them."
Time passes, weeks maybe? I notice this girl, who would often be the first subject from his lips after a school day was making less and less of an appearance. Dylan seemed a lot happier about the prospect of going to school in the morning, and lots of new names were mentioned at the question "who did you play with today?". Alls well that ends well.
Right?
But I also noticed something else. The girl, whose mum would park by our house and walk with us to school sometimes, stopped doing so. In fact, I noticed that she was parking much further away, even though she knew she could save herself a bit of distance by parking near us. She stopped talking to me in the yard - even though we barely did, just pleasantries really. I thought nothing of it, really, and just went back to being glad that Dylan was happy again.
Until today. I'm in the yard, minding my own, when suddenly, I see her. I smile and say "Hello", as you do. She didn't seem like she was happy about it, but she couldn't stop herself. She started talking.
"So, my child tells me that she doesn't play with Dylan anymore."
"Really?"
I was trying to think fast. Bad idea. I knew full well that she wasn't being mentioned, but I hadn't asked Dylan why.
"Yes, she says that when she asked Dylan why she can't be friends anymore, he said that he's not allowed, because his mummy told him so."
And there it is. The moment that every Yard Parent dreads. A confrontation from a fellow parent about, not just your child, but you. Specifically you, and what you allegedly said. I was aghast. I felt a hot wash of shame as my cheeks blushed the colour reserved for London buses, and I stammered to get my words out.
"He... Wha..?.. Ha ha... When did...? Wow, that's the first I've known, or you know, heard, and stuff... But.... You know, wow. Yeah, so I know they weren't, you know, hanging around much, actually, anymore.... But yeah, no... Yeah I don't know what's happened here."
I know exactly whats happened here. He got it from me. I said ditch the spare. I told my child to leave anyone who makes you feel like a shit version of yourself behind, move on and make your own happiness, even if that means being alone. He did, and now, as any 6 year old would, he was honest about it. When someone asks "why don't we play together anymore?" we adults bullshit. We lie and scheme and make ourselves out to be less of an arsehole than we actually are. It's called "diplomacy". We give them positives about themselves and say "hey, it just isn't working out, but you're cool though." For the most part, obviously. But a 6 year old? Ah, the beauty and innocence of childhood. You ask a 6 year old why you don't hang out anymore, and they'll bloody well tell you. "You upset me. And my mum says she doesn't like me being upset, so I shouldn't play with people who upset me."
Fair enough. Long may his honesty reign. But to a fellow 6 year old, that sounds an awful lot like "My mum doesn't like you", and when relayed to that 6 year olds mother, it can cause quite a few ruffled feathers.
Her child, from another class to Dylan, came out of her classroom and signalled it was time for her mother to leave. I garbled something about "having a word" with Dylan, but that could have meant anything to her. I gathered up my own child and waited until we got home to have that word.
"Did you tell your friend in the other class that you aren't allowed to be her friend anymore because I said so?"
"Yes. You did though, didn't you?"
"Now now, Dylan, let's be careful here... I didn't actually say not to be HER friend, specifically, I said 'people that upset you', didn't I?"
"But she does upset me! So I told her to leave me alone because my mummy says I'm not allowed to play with people who upset me."
So, what have we learnt, class? That honesty is the best policy? Even if it leads to crossed-wires and "he-said-she-said" that could put you in a humiliating spot? Should I have stood my ground, said "that's almost right. I told him not to play with bullies, so if that's what he thinks she is, that's his decision." Whilst pulling my sunglasses down over my eyes and internally screaming "YEEEEAAAAH!!"? Or should I have downright bullshitted my way out and landed Dylan in it? "He said what?! You wait until he gets home, the lying little bleeder. I love your kid, she's ever so lovely to everyone around her, why wouldn't he want to be her friend?"
Or option 3. Stumble over my words in an embarrassing way, whilst neither confirming nor denying that any such conversation took place, therefore guaranteeing that I'm never invited to that particular kids party ever again?
It wasn't sunny enough for sunglasses today. And I would never drop Dylan in it like that. Option 3 it had to be.
I knew I should have just knocked some heads together.
