My usually sunny daughter came home from school and said, “Mom, I need to tell you something that happened today.” Clearly distressed, she was mangling a purple teddybear keychain, clipped to her backpack.
I felt the earth shift a smidge under my feet, bracing for her story. She’s a kid who normally floats through middle school with pixie-haired grace, easily side stepping its many social land mines.
A boy who is “really annoying” came up to her during study hall and started talking smack about her twin brother. Her twin is ingeniously funny and gives spot-on, thoughtful compliments. He also has repetitive, awkward behaviors. Those same social land mines blow him to pieces, almost daily. (All this, courtesy of his autism spectrum disorder.) The boy said he was weird - and worse.
My daughter was bombarded by the boy’s tirade for several minutes. Then, like an angry mob on the move, she felt a hot flush march up her neck to her ears. She said to him:
“You know what? You’re right - my brother is weird. And I’m weird and we are all weird. And what about you - are you perfect? No? Well, then until God chooses you to be judge and jury for the rest of us, you can just be nice. And when some people struggle more than others, maybe you should try being extra kind to them.”
At this point my daughter noticed she was standing up and had raised her voice. She said the room suddenly went quiet and the teacher was staring at her.
Already worked up, she couldn’t stop - even though she knew she would likely get a lunch detention.
“And by the way - Lisa* doesn’t like you. You’ve asked to sit with her and eat lunch with her and hang out with her a hundred times. She has politely told you no a hundred times. If you ask a girl something more than once and she says no, then STOP ASKING. That’s called HARASSMENT.”
Shaking, she took her seat. The teacher came over and my daughter preemptively put up her hand. She said, “I know, I know - I’ll stay in for lunch.” The teacher smiled and told her, “No, I brought you the candy jar - pick whatever you’d like.”
The boy got a lunch detention and a chat with the vice principal. (To be clear, that doesn’t mean he’s a bad kid. I’ve had that call from the VP too.) My daughter’s classmates crowded around and thanked her for her words.
My son is fortunate to have an eloquent, peaceful defender in his camp. I couldn’t have come up with the words my daughter said - on the spot and exactly when her class needed to hear them. She lives in the same trenches as her classmates, yet had the courage to call out their better angels.
I wonder how our world would change if more people like her were in charge.
- Name changed.