The Discrete Art of Sumo and The Playground
May 30, 2013
Posted By: Shaunescy
On the way home from school yesterday, my kindergartener told me about a scrap that he'd been in.
~ How was your day, bud?
You see mom, it was a great day. . . but one really bad thing happened.
~ What was that?
Well, Gabe took a handful of rocks and hit me over the head with 'em.
Oh my.
You know, if you asked me a year ago what my response to hearing that a kid hit my kid with anything, probably would have been, conferences with the principal and getting all finger and head-waggly about it.
Instead I said. . .
~ Well, that's weird. You guys are pretty good friends. I wonder what else was going on?
And he proceeds to tell me what happened. Adding that Gabe apologized and that they were still friends. Whew.
Here's the part that has had me giggling all day.
When I chatted with Gabe's mom this morning at drop off time. She told me what her son told her about the incident.
"I asked him what happened and told him that I was surprised," I am so glad in this moment that the mommy-mind meld had taken affect. These two really get along well and play together a lot. Plus I respect her. She is a good mama.
She continued, "And Gabe told me, 'Mom, we were playing Star Wars and he wouldn't stop chasing me and I didn't use my words and I smashed him over the head with a handful of rocks. But I apologized and we are still friends."
Let me just be clear here. No one is injured. Everybody is just fine. And there is not a single person involved who condones fisticuffs. In Kindergarten, I've found that the children are deeply interested in truth and justice. They are all a bunch of little police officers looking for infractions - and ways to deal with said infractions.
So why am I telling you this story?
Because there are so many things that I have learned this year, both, as a mom and about my son. Also, what this school business is all about.
It has become more and more apparent that as babies become kids and then grow into adults, we are all simply learning more and more sophisticated and discrete rules of engagement.
I am no longer the instantly squawky and irate mother bird as my fledgling is gaining his teeny-tiny wings. Don't get me wrong, I am fully watchful and ready to dive-bomb headfirst into any sign of real trouble. But the other little bird that is just learning to make his way. . . well, that's where we all need to stick together and sing the same song.
Use you words, use your words, use your words. . . Ok, Now go play with your friend.
So when I picked him up today, I asked if everything was groovy.
-- Yeah mom, it was a great day!
~ And you're still friends with Gabe?
-- Of course.
Tiny lull in the ride home convo and my daughter pipes in:
-- "Mom, How do you make a Sumo fly?"
What? I am not sure if I heard that right. So I ask her to say that again.
-- "HOW DO YOU MAKE A SUMO FLY?
Really, I have no answer to this and I say as much. My son has a response though.
-- Ten thousand helium ballons would do it.
Nicely done grasshopper. Nicely done.
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All my best, BunnyFufu
Note: This is a true story. Names have been changed, and I talked to Gabe's mom about the post. Because the last thing I'd ever want to do is make anyone feel awkward.
