You might think I forgot about this little series; I didn't. I just really, really don't want to write this one. I am sad and ashamed every time I think about it.
Because I hurt my kid. Don't get me wrong; I don't think she knows how much I hurt her, but I have hurt and been hurt enough to know what I did. And this isn't a case of 20/20 hindsight, either. I did the same thing to Burgundy when she was four years old or so.
Now I'm going to warn you that you're going to want to giggle when you read it. I give you permission now. I'm funny, the story I'm about to tell you is funny, and it's only when I dissected it in my head that I saw how profoundly cruel and trashy I acted.
I left the church after refusing to help the man with parking, and when we pulled into the driveway, Burgundy was there waiting. The kids love nothing more than the opportunity to hang out with their big sister, and I am so grateful to have a daughter who enjoys and cherishes her little siblings.
Burgundy had come to take Holden Christmas shopping for me, Mark, and Ruby. That's something she's done every year since she was old enough to drive, and without really intending it, she has turned it into a Christmas tradition almost as important to the littles as hunting down the perfect Christmas tree on the weekend after Thanksgiving.
As Holden clambered into the backseat, I sat in the front to visit for a minute while Ruby hopped up on Burgundy behind the steering wheel, and they started chatting. We were all in high spirits, laughing and joking, and Burgundy and I have a habit of getting into little shock value contests. Who can say the most outrageous and inappropriate thing? It's usually pretty hilarious.
While Ruby chattered at her sister, Burgundy and I tried to carry on a real conversation. Somehow the conversation turned to braces, and Burgundy said, "and Ruby, you and Holden will have braces too, someday."
Ruby's baby teeth came in crooked and jumbled, so we have known for a while now that we'll need a budget for braces; now that she's starting to get her permanent teeth, any doubts we might have had are firmly erased.
"Not me," said Ruby, "I'm not evuh gonna have bwaces."
"Uh, have you seen your teeth?" I blurted out, "they look like God threw some teeth at your face to see where they'd stick."
Burgundy exploded in horrified laughter while Ruby grabbed the mirror and began self-consciously checking out her teeth. "MOM," Burgundy choked out, looking at me in horror. and then she turned to Ruby. "Almost everybody needs braces at some point," she explained gently.
"Look at my teeth. See how straight they are?" Ruby inspected Burgundy's teeth. "I got really lucky," Burgundy explained, "Because my teeth just happened to grow in this way. Now look at Mom's teeth."
I gave Ruby my least flattering gorilla grin, my horror at what I had said to my beautiful little girl growing stronger by the minute. "See how straight they are? Mommy had crooked teeth, so she had to have braces put on, and that's why she has straight teeth now."
Ruby seemed fine about it either way. But in my rush to make Burgundy laugh, no matter the expense, in my vain desire to be funny, I showered contempt onto a 6 year old who values my opinion above anyone else in her world. I am overwhelmed with sadness knowing I can't undo those words, and the first time a mean kid teases her about her teeth, she'll hear Mommy saying it first. I can (and did) apologize. I can (and did) tell her it was bad of me to say it and that I didn't mean it. But I can't UNsay it. It will always be out there.
In our family right now, things are so tense and difficult and scary that sometimes laughter feels critical. If we don't all explode in laughter soon, we'll all just start shrieking at the moon like a demented family version of The Scream.
I turned that tension on my six-year old, and when it slowly dawned on me the selfishness of what I had done, I started to see myself doing it all over the place. Maybe not as overt or cruel, but tiny acts of hurting other people to protect myself, often from imaginary wounds. The gift, I suppose, of that searing moment of self-aware horror, is knowing on a new level how depraved I am, and working to outgrow that childish need to protect myself at all costs.
I'm not exactly sure how to overcome this, but I'm starting with something I should have done years ago: I'm shutting down the contemptuous mental monologue I keep about how trashy the people around me are. When I'm in the Wal-Mart parking lot and someone drives too close or too fast, I force myself to smile and wave, and I verbally remind myself that kindness is in short supply, and they're likely dealing with something really horrible right now. When I've been waiting an hour and a half to get into the school for the class party, and four parents shove past me to get to the door before me. When people cut me off in traffic or walk away while I'm speaking.
I'm working to be the possibility of kindness for the people I encounter every day. It won't ever unsay my words to Ruby, but I am sure it's unsaying a lot of future nastiness.
 |
| I give you my blessing to laugh. |
Now I'm going to warn you that you're going to want to giggle when you read it. I give you permission now. I'm funny, the story I'm about to tell you is funny, and it's only when I dissected it in my head that I saw how profoundly cruel and trashy I acted.
I left the church after refusing to help the man with parking, and when we pulled into the driveway, Burgundy was there waiting. The kids love nothing more than the opportunity to hang out with their big sister, and I am so grateful to have a daughter who enjoys and cherishes her little siblings.
Burgundy had come to take Holden Christmas shopping for me, Mark, and Ruby. That's something she's done every year since she was old enough to drive, and without really intending it, she has turned it into a Christmas tradition almost as important to the littles as hunting down the perfect Christmas tree on the weekend after Thanksgiving.
As Holden clambered into the backseat, I sat in the front to visit for a minute while Ruby hopped up on Burgundy behind the steering wheel, and they started chatting. We were all in high spirits, laughing and joking, and Burgundy and I have a habit of getting into little shock value contests. Who can say the most outrageous and inappropriate thing? It's usually pretty hilarious.
While Ruby chattered at her sister, Burgundy and I tried to carry on a real conversation. Somehow the conversation turned to braces, and Burgundy said, "and Ruby, you and Holden will have braces too, someday."
Ruby's baby teeth came in crooked and jumbled, so we have known for a while now that we'll need a budget for braces; now that she's starting to get her permanent teeth, any doubts we might have had are firmly erased.
"Not me," said Ruby, "I'm not evuh gonna have bwaces."
"Uh, have you seen your teeth?" I blurted out, "they look like God threw some teeth at your face to see where they'd stick."
Burgundy exploded in horrified laughter while Ruby grabbed the mirror and began self-consciously checking out her teeth. "MOM," Burgundy choked out, looking at me in horror. and then she turned to Ruby. "Almost everybody needs braces at some point," she explained gently.
"Look at my teeth. See how straight they are?" Ruby inspected Burgundy's teeth. "I got really lucky," Burgundy explained, "Because my teeth just happened to grow in this way. Now look at Mom's teeth."
I gave Ruby my least flattering gorilla grin, my horror at what I had said to my beautiful little girl growing stronger by the minute. "See how straight they are? Mommy had crooked teeth, so she had to have braces put on, and that's why she has straight teeth now."
Ruby seemed fine about it either way. But in my rush to make Burgundy laugh, no matter the expense, in my vain desire to be funny, I showered contempt onto a 6 year old who values my opinion above anyone else in her world. I am overwhelmed with sadness knowing I can't undo those words, and the first time a mean kid teases her about her teeth, she'll hear Mommy saying it first. I can (and did) apologize. I can (and did) tell her it was bad of me to say it and that I didn't mean it. But I can't UNsay it. It will always be out there.
In our family right now, things are so tense and difficult and scary that sometimes laughter feels critical. If we don't all explode in laughter soon, we'll all just start shrieking at the moon like a demented family version of The Scream.
I turned that tension on my six-year old, and when it slowly dawned on me the selfishness of what I had done, I started to see myself doing it all over the place. Maybe not as overt or cruel, but tiny acts of hurting other people to protect myself, often from imaginary wounds. The gift, I suppose, of that searing moment of self-aware horror, is knowing on a new level how depraved I am, and working to outgrow that childish need to protect myself at all costs.
I'm not exactly sure how to overcome this, but I'm starting with something I should have done years ago: I'm shutting down the contemptuous mental monologue I keep about how trashy the people around me are. When I'm in the Wal-Mart parking lot and someone drives too close or too fast, I force myself to smile and wave, and I verbally remind myself that kindness is in short supply, and they're likely dealing with something really horrible right now. When I've been waiting an hour and a half to get into the school for the class party, and four parents shove past me to get to the door before me. When people cut me off in traffic or walk away while I'm speaking.
I'm working to be the possibility of kindness for the people I encounter every day. It won't ever unsay my words to Ruby, but I am sure it's unsaying a lot of future nastiness.
Powerful self-realization. It's good that you recognize the power of your words. They have the ability to shape entire worlds for other people. It sounds like you understand that now. I once told a friend via FaceBook that he was looking a lot older. It wasn't really my intention. It's just that several years had passed since I'd seen him and he had a lot (A LOT) more grey in his beard than he used to have. He was not a fan of my comment. He's never really treated me exactly the same since.
ReplyDelete