"When She's Nice To Me, I Play With Her."

Over the weekend there was a discussion on Janet Lansbury's Elevating Childcare Facebook page about the common preschool phenomenon of children experimenting with "power" by saying things like, "You're not my friend anymore!" "You can't come to my birthday!" or other forms of arbitrarily, and often hurtfully, excluding others.

Just as we start the school year by warning the parents in our Pre-3 class that hitting (and kicking, biting, taking, etc.) are normal parts of 2 and 3-year-old development, we warn the parents of 4 and 5-year-olds that this kind of exclusionary experimentation is likewise quite common for the older kids. In fact, already, after only one week of school, the children in our 5's class, without any prompting from me, have made the rule, "You can't say you can't play," which will be a good starting point for the kinds of discussions on this topic we will be having all year. The conversations will become increasingly nuanced, especially as we get to the point where we are understanding that sometimes you can say, "You can't play." It's not an easy concept, and it's a process that will continue beyond preschool. 

For some, it will continue well into adulthood: we all know adults who have never learned that you really don't make yourself more powerful by arbitrarily judging and excluding others. These are people most of us avoid -- a version of acceptable exclusion. Like most human things, it can be very emotional and complicated.

If you want to read more about how we deal with this issue at Woodland Park, I invite you to click on the links above. Today, however, I wanted to tell you my own story as a parent of a young child.

As a preschooler, my daughter Josephine engaged in some of the usual exclusionary experimentation, but was more likely to be the one on the other side of the equation. She tended to fall in love with other little girls from afar, then persist in attempting to force friendship upon them, often facing rejection time and time again. We had many tearful trips home from school and playgrounds, especially when she was 4 and 5. We worked out some strategies and I tried to urge her toward more "healthy" friendships, but as she moved on to kindergarten the pattern continued.

There was one "glamorous" kindergarten friend in particular, I'll call her Mary, who tended to run very hot and cold, one day being a "best friend" then turning around the next day with an assertive rebuff. I really tried to urge Josephine toward other friends, often scheduling after school "play dates" with different girls. She loved all of her friends, of course, but Mary was always out there as a sort of unattainable treasure. I knew that we would eventually figure it out, but that didn't make it any easier on either of us.

One day I was driving Josephine and her friend Katrina home from school and the two of them began talking about their day.

Josephine complained about Mary.

Katrina answered matter-of-factly, "When she's nice to me, I play with her. When she's mean to me, I don't."

After a pause, I heard Josephine answer, "That's what I'm going to do."

It was a light bulb moment for both of us. Josephine is now nearly 17-years-old and we still quote Katrina's simple, yet profound wisdom to one another when we find ourselves dealing with challenging people in our lives. When she's nice to me, I play with her. When she's mean to me, I don't -- words by which to live.

Yesterday, our family was having breakfast together at our favorite greasy spoon and amidst discussions about college, Shakespeare, and high school parties, the subject of Mary came up, a girl who Josephine continues to count among her best friends. She still tends to run hot and cold. Josephine said, "She's just Mary. She doesn't hurt my feelings any more. Some people think she's a bitch, but I'll always love her, because I understand her." 

I know its hard to see the tears our children shed when they're young. The pain is real for both our kids and ourselves. And they are necessary. The future seems so far away, but believe me, it's so close you can already touch it. In only a few days time, you too will be sitting in a diner and realize that your child has acquired the wisdom that only comes through tears.

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