If you are a mom of sons, you may recognize this story. It’s one that tends to repeat itself, at least in my life. In fact, it has repeated itself three times in the last two weeks for me – in three unconnected settings, with two different sons.
Your son is out playing with a group of kids. Everything seems fine. Then suddenly, a quiet girl appears at your side. She’s a bit timid, but also confident. It always starts like this.
“I don’t want to be a tattle, but . . . “
This is when your stomach begins to knot. You want to turn and say, “Well, then don’t tattle.” But she’s not your kid, and you know you should stop and listen patiently. That is the noble thing to do when you’re a mom who is responsible for a little boy.
So that’s what you do. You take a deep breath.
“OK. What is the problem? Does it involve one of my sons?”
“Yes, it does. You see . . . “
This is when you hear of the serious transgression that has just occurred. You listen carefully. You live with this little boy (and a few others, too), so this sin doesn’t seem all that sinful to you. No one was hurt. There is no blood. There was no foul language. You try to keep listening while your inner eyes are rolling. Ok. Maybe it is a bit serious. I mean, throwing things outside can be dangerous. Heck, you’ve had sons break both house and car windows when throwing things. Yes, you remind yourself, throwing things is dangerous. And potty humor? Is it really that big of a deal? Oh, wait. Maybe that one crossed the line. He shouldn’t have said that. Ok, yeah. Maybe he was wrong.
You turn it over in your head. You try to push aside your frustration with the little girl who is batting her sweet eyelashes while she lays out for you the serious flaws in the child you so adore. You take another deep breath. You thank her for the information and promise to deal with it. You set out to find the little sinner, wishing you didn’t have to do it.
You speak to him. Maybe it takes a bit of prodding, but he admits to the transgression. You explain why it was wrong. You encourage him not to do it again. It’s just a regular parenting moment. That’s it. You’ve managed to cross yet another little threshold. You send him off to play again, and you retreat.
But this is not the end. A few minutes later, another girl comes to tell you about it. You smile and reassure her that you’ve already dealt with it. She can let it go. But then you notice a group of girls whispering about it in the corner. You suddenly notice the talk moving all around you. Now a parent comes to talk to you about it. The thing the parent mentions? It has somehow become much bigger and more significant than the original story. It’s more than the first accusation, and it’s more than your son admitted to doing.
You know that game called telephone? The one where you line up and whisper a phrase in each person’s ear down the line? And it’s completely different by the end of the line? This is happening all around you, among all these little girls and a parent or two. And it’s all about your son – that child you always have and always will adore. The knots in your stomach are much larger now.
Your son? He’s out playing again happily, not even noticing. He’s content. Oblivious is a good word. At least that’s the case until the game of telephone makes it back to him. By that time, he’s totally confused. In fact, he’s pretty angry. And, really, so are you. But you are also heartbroken. How did that one little bad choice turn into shunning and all this mean chatter? And why is no one outraged at the chatter itself?
Probably not a single person set out to be malicious or wrong. But here we are in all this mud. It’s like that dreaded quicksand of every cartoon and adventure movie of the 1980s. There may be no way out other than to be very still and quiet. And we still might all sink.
Without a doubt, this is my least favorite part of being a parent. It’s the worst.
But this? Right here on the playground or the library or the church yard around age 8 or 6 or even 4? This is where these kinds of misunderstandings begin. And they play out right through high school and into marriage.
I hate it because I truly know that little girl. I know her because I’ve been her. I know exactly how she feels, how ridiculous that little boy seems to her, how badly she wants things to be right and proper all the time. And if I’m honest? I haven’t just been her. Far too often I am still her.
This is it. The shock at someone else’s bad deed, the deep desire to share that bad deed with others, the deep need to tell on someone, the inability to believe that another person is capable of change. And the way that first telling always grows and changes as it moves through a group.
And in the end? In the end someone is out there confused about why no one wants to hang out with him anymore. And his closest people? Well, their patience is pretty thin as well.
Without fail, every single day with my kids helps me to reevaluate my own habits and and my tongue and my attitudes.
There are some big things out there. But, in reality, so many of the big things are just little things that we thought about or talked about far too much.
At Midnight 