Recess, I’m told, is like a battlefield these days. When I pick the kids up from school, they have tons of stories about drama with soccer, kickball, or gaga ball. They’ve got it all, with trash talking, rivalries, cheating, injuries and strong competition. My kids can’t give me any details about what they learned in math or language arts that day, but will give me a play-by-play of the recess action, typically much more than I ever want to know. Because the retelling of recess is often longer than the recess itself, I tend to only half listen and eventually stop listening all together. Come on, I don’t really have to know how bouncy the kickball pitch was.
Last week, Reese was beginning her long recess soliloquy, which signaled me to pick up my phone or start folding laundry because I knew I’d be there a while. I heard her say, “Mommy, I was crying at recess,” to which I half-assedly responded, “Oh yeah, uh huh, go on,” expecting the next words to be something about how someone stole the ball from her or something silly. She said, “Someone said something mean,”…an unconcerned “mmm hmmm” automatically spilled out of my mouth. Then she said, “They said something mean about YOU.” I stopped what I was doing and calmly asked, “What do you mean?” even though my face said, “Bitch, say whaaaaaat?!?” Reese continued, “Well, we were playing kickball and I was playing first base. In the kicking line I heard a boy say, ‘You know how Reese’s mom had cancer? I wish she died.'” She then said she started crying and walked away. Wow, just wow. My heart sunk.
Even I was speechless for a moment, and that rarely happens. For a quick second, we just stared at each other silently, she studying my face for the right reaction, and I convincing myself to not punch a hole in the wall. I was so angry, furious that some punk ass kid would say something so hurtful to or about her, and heartbroken that she was this sad. I felt like I had to be really careful with my response, and I wanted to comfort her and make it be about how she was feeling. I gave her a hug and said, “But why were you crying, babe? I’m here right now and I’m completely healthy. If cancer couldn’t kill me, and chemo couldn’t kill me, you really think an ignorant kid’s comments could even remotely hurt me? No way. So don’t let it hurt you.” And while I tried to make the focus on her and making her feel better, I was taking names. I nonchalantly asked if she remembered who was in the kicking line or around the area where she heard the comment. She has a very good memory (can’t remember to put her dirty clothes in the hamper, but she could recall minutia like nobody’s business…much like her dad), and gave me the names of the kids. I asked if she was okay, and she said yes, just a little sad. I told her to shake it off and go play for a bit, and that we’d talk about it later.
I wish I could take my own advice and shake it off myself, but I was really upset. I began texting a few parents to ask if their kids heard any of this at recess and had any idea which kid might have said it. Then I thought to myself, what am I going to do if I find out who the kid is? I’m pretty sure stepping up to a 10 year old is frowned upon (and most of her classmates are taller than me anyway). I didn’t want to make this a school issue, and I was even on the fence about talking to the kid’s parents if I ever found out who it was. Should I just make a voodoo doll of the kid and just start poking it until I felt better? Nah, that sounds like borderline crafting, and I don’t do crafts. I think I just needed to vent to get my emotions out. You wouldn’t think a 10 year old’s dumb ass words could shake an adult, yet it took a good few hours before my blood pressure lowered. That little fucker got both of us.
At dinner, I brought it up again to get more details, not so much to plot our revenge, but just to see where her head was at and to try to make something positive out of it. She told me a few of her friends tried to make her feel better. Some even started approaching individual classmates, trying to get them to ‘fess up. One even suggested having a mock court session to get to the bottom of it. Reese eventually told her teacher, who then addressed the entire class. That signaled me to squash it; as long as it was addressed and an adult knew about it, I felt more at ease. I told Reese that it was really great that she had good friends that would come to her defense and try to make her feel better. I also said that the parents that I spoke with also told me that their kids were really bothered by the comment and thought it was a pretty low blow. That means that the majority of the kids in her class are probably not total ass wipes, they are actually nice kids. And who knows, the kid who said that might have been having a bad day or was really just trying to get attention and took it too far. I’m hopeful he learned his lesson.
It was a good opportunity to encourage Reese and Evan to stand up for their family and friends. I told her that it was okay to cry and to feel whatever you are feeling. But then take a deep breath to collect yourself, and confront them and tell them to stop talking about your mother or brother or whoever you care about. I said, “Look, kids are going to talk trash, just accept it. But be ready to respond when they have crossed the line. If a kid says something like, ‘Your mom smells weird, or wears terrible outfits, or has put on some weight,’ you don’t always have to react or respond because honestly, most of those comments are not completely false. But when they talk death or murder or racism, yeah, you should speak up. Just follow your gut, speak your mind, and then tell an adult.” Evan ended the conversation with, “Just raise your arms up and shout, ‘Don’t talk about my mama!'” Leave it to that boy to either lighten the mood or kill the buzz.
It looks like gone are the days of the classic “Yo’ Mama” jokes that I grew up with. “Yo’ mama’s so fat…,” “Yo’ mama’s so dumb…,” “Yo’ mama’s so ugly…,” while still completely inappropriate and insensitive, none of those jokes are going to phase me. In fact, the one that goes, “Yo’ mama’s so bald, I could see her thoughts,” still makes me chuckle. But the “I wish your mom died a tragic death from an incurable disease, leaving you and your brother motherless and your dad a widow” is a variation I don’t think I could ever get used to. That’s just going straight for the jugular. I have pretty thick skin when it comes to shit-talking; I think that is kind of a pre-requisite when I myself am a shit-talker. But this was different. It felt cruel, even if the kid didn’t have that intention.
I am saddened to see that this is a trigger for both Reese and myself. When I was sick, she was just 7 years old; that’s Evan’s age now, a second grader. They didn’t really know what was going on, just that I was in the hospital a lot and was really tired all the time. It seems as they get older, they are reshaping their memory of this traumatic time period, and becoming more and more sensitive to topics involving cancer or losing a parent. The same goes for me, I have become increasingly more emotional when commercial or movie plot lines involve a spouse or parent death. It hits too close to home. It’s the baggage we carry now.
The big take away is this: kids can be assholes, some grow out of it and some don’t. Sometimes you speak up, and when you can’t, your friends will speak up for you. My kids are going to have to learn it for themselves, just like we did. And for the Newtons, cancer is just going to be part of our story, and we’re going to have to continue to figure out ways to navigate through the aftermath. I’m just thankful that Reese has her dad’s non-reactive demeanor, because she is physically strong as hell for her size and if her temper was anything like mine, she would have punched that boy in the throat. Actually it would look more like round-off, flip-flop, superman punch in the throat, and stick the landing. And instead of giggling about old “Yo’ Mama” jokes, I’d be spending a lot of time in the principal’s office picking her ass up.
The Mundame 