The Monsters Inside

We finished watching "We Bought a Zoo" and I had to take Mandy out for a quick walk before we could turn in for the night.  "Do you want to come with or stay here?" I asked Dia.  "Come with" she said.  So I got her bundled up, got the leash on the dog and started the loop around the neighborhood.

She wanted to be carried, so I carried her.  Muffled a bit through her hat and scarf and my hood, I heard her wondering aloud about the monsters the boy drew in the movie.  "Why did he draw the monsters?"  she asked.  She said they kind of freaked her out.  "He was sad and angry because his Momma had died." I explained.  "Sometimes people feel monstrous when they are sad or angry."

"I feel monstrous when (a boy at school) makes fun of the way I run." she confessed.

"What does he say?" I asked.

"He calls me a slow poke and says I run funny."

My child, people, does run funny.  Something isn't right in her mechanics.  Perhaps it is in her hips, maybe in her feet... perhaps she simply needs more practice.  Perhaps, though, it's something far more serious - something that we are trying to run down right now with the doctors.  Something, perhaps, that no one should ever mock.  So hearing her say this... and further hearing that she is aware of what others think ...  well, that made all kinds of emotions rise up in me.

But I had to shove those emotions down.

So I told her I wished I could talk with her friends at school.  I wished I could ask them what good they think could come of making fun of another person.  I wished I could ask them if they think that mocking Dia would somehow motivate her to run better.  I wished I could ask them who mocked them about things they didn't do well and how they felt about that.

Instead, as I carried her in my arms and walked the dog around the block, I told her a story .  I'll share it here with you too:
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I played softball once in my life.  For whatever reason, we never played softball in any gym class I ever took, so I was 30 years old before I even considered the idea.  A friend was putting together a co-ed softball team through work and was desperate for female players.  She begged me to join.  When I told her I'd never played in my life and that I was terrified I would suck and even more terrified that everyone would laugh at me, she assured me it was all for fun.  So I joined.

At my first at bat I got reprimanded by the umpire that no wrist watches were allowed.  God only knows why, but fine - I took it off.  Then I struck out.  On my second (and last) at bat I actually hit the ball.  I threw the bat behind me and went running.  Yet insult to injury resulted in this action as I not only got scolded by the ump again (no throwing of bats in softball) but I also just lobbed the ball right back to the pitcher.  Easy out.

My outfield attempts were worse than that.  I caught the ball OK, but couldn't throw it back into play from left field.  Still, I ended the night having had a fairly good time and ready to try again the following week.

But the next day at work it got quickly back around to me that the very person that begged me to sign up - the very person that assured me that it was all in fun - the very person that swore no one would make fun of me for sucking up the place - was having a great time replaying my foibles from the previous night.  Apparently, she was getting terrific laughs re-telling what a horrible klutz I was and how bad I sucked at softball.

That was the one and only time I've ever played softball in my life.

Contrary to this story (I told my dear Dia, while still walking around the block) at my next job my boss convinced me to join an over 30 indoor soccer league.  Most of the women on the team had never played, she said.  Most of them simply knew of the game through their children.  It would be fun, she promised.  So I stepped out of my comfort zone and joined the team.

That period of my life was the happiest I had ever known before I had Dia.  It wasn't just the soccer - Tim and Chey and I were awesomely happy; I adored my job; I was running in races - I had all types of things that balanced me out and made my heart soar - but I cannot belittle the contribution that silly soccer team had on that happiness.  This was a team of women that only cheered each other on.  We never ever won a game, but you wouldn't know that by the way we celebrated each goal.  I think the best person on the team by far was that boss that recruited me.  The rest of us were mediocre to terrible - but, again, you'd have never known it by the way we acted toward each other.  And the miracle of it all?  We got better.  Every single one of us got better.  Our first game we lost 16-0 (seriously - this is soccer, people!) and by the last game of the season we lost 3-2.  Hell yeah, baby.  We were contenders.
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I told Dia the stories just a bit differently than I'm telling you here.  I took out the less-than-appropriate language and kind of simplified it (she can get bored when I drone on about things), but my point in telling it is the same:  I wonder what anyone who tells Dia she's a slowpoke or points out that she runs funny thinks they are accomplishing.  Why did my so-called friend make fun of me after my first try at softball?  My guess?  I suppose that it made them feel better about themselves.  I just cannot imagine it could possibly be that they thought it would benefit Dia, in her case, or me, in mine.

But there is a part that haunts me a bit.  I've seen it a thousand times.  It comes from the parents.  The taunting.  The teasing.  The ... well, honestly?... bullying ... that parents levy upon their kids in an attempt to encourage, motivate, or improve their children's performance.  I wish there was a candid camera on every one of these parents so they could watch their kids shrivel and cower in response to this type of 'motivation.'

By the way?  It doesn't actually motivate them except to try to make the pain you are causing them to stop.  It creates monsters inside them and teaches them to speak cruelly to kids like Dia - to make fun of them instead of trying to understand or, better, trying to help.  When they cannot improve beyond what is being asked of them, this type of  "motivation"  motivates them only to criticize others. 

If you have influence in a child's life, please watch your words and please teach them compassion.  Please teach them that things may not be so black and white.  Please teach them that, when they see someone not as strong, smart or beautiful as they are,  there is a chance, at least, that the other person's story is deeper than skin deep. 

In Dia's case?  I might have a kid fighting for her life.  Or I might have a kid whose motor development is just not like the others.  But regardless she is so much like the others in that she wants to be validated, approved of and loved.  In that way, I have a kid exactly like yours.  I don't want her to give up and never ever want to play again.  I want her to run free with no monsters hiding in her subconscious mind.

- KEC

** A special thanks to Asher, who at a recent party told Dia "The other kids may think you run really slow, but I think you are fast."  Thank you sweet angel boy.  Thank you so much.