(Some flashbacks; reminded myself to write some of these when I got the blog up and running)
Rockstar at the playground on a happier (bully-less) day
“NO! He’s not my friend so he can’t get on the slide. Only my friends can play here.”
She has long, luxurious, cascading golden curls and an angelic face. My hackles rise. She can’t be younger than 4. Rockstar is 27 months and stands at a mighty 85cm/30lbs. He’s small for his age – physically he barely has the height of your average 2yr old; but he climbs, runs and jumps like a 3yr old, leading to more than a few mums of 2yr olds asking a slightly freaked out “Umm, how old is he?”. Rockstar has earnestly moved back down the 2 steps of the slide he’s started up, to let her go first (he thinks he’s older, and sometimes (1) is desperate to befriend older kids (2) behaves like a big brother to kids his own age (which can be rather funny because they tower over him yet he pulls it off with grave expression) – but the moment Mean Girl gets on the slide, she’ll only let “friends” up. I’m about to learn that 30 years after my own childhood bullying began, nothing has changed. Except maybe the hairdos. Ok, definitely the hairdos and probably what alpha mums wear to playgrounds.
I’m keenly aware my son has heard Mean Girl. I’m also keenly aware he is mildly interested in how I will respond, though mostly he’s still trying to get past Mean Girl for his turn on the slide. As I cast about for reinforcements, GlaMum feels her imaginary cape start to wilt a little – even as Mean Girl’s friends – all tall, handsome, Caucasian children – push past us happily on the slide, impervious to a younger child’s feelings or his GlaMum’s misery. My heart breaks as I see Rockstar watching them hungrily. There’s a group of well-groomed, appropriately-yet-tastefully-dressed-for-the-playground women deep in conversation, completely oblivious to the drama playing out 10 feet away.
No help for it, mustering up my flagging GlaMum abilities, I say theatrically directly to Rockstar “She doesn’t deserve any attention. She’s being very naughty – if her mummy knew, her mummy would be so disappointed in her.” Mean Girl glowers but stands her ground. She meets my reproachful look head-on with a glare I didn’t even know young children could muster. If looks could kill Hong Kong might well have their first homicide by a 4yr old on their hands. I wonder what the Cantonese DJs would say. In that instant I don’t think I have ever seen an uglier child. The mums are still talking but Rockstar seems to decide my remark is suitably satisfying affirmation. He breaks the impasse, getting distracted by a nearby bug and wandering off. His obvious disinterest in Mean Girl and her slide is far more effective as we leave her glowering at nothing and move on to More Fascinating (And Pretty) Things Like Ladybirds. Mean Girl runs off to the chatting alpha mums to tell on us but her mum swats her away like an annoying fly – her mum is the tall, very slim blonde in the baby pink Juicy Couture tracksuit. Why hadn’t I hazarded a guess?
Some of what Rockstar does that freaks mums of the 2yr olds at our playground…
(Honestly my heart stopped here too)
