Sticks and stones and 5-year-olds

I don’t know how it started, the discussion of vitriol. The word had been stuck in my head for days and as with any other word stuck in the head, I started to find it in articles, in books and movies. It even cropped up in general conversation. Email, anyway, and there we were talking about vitriol, about jealousy and competition.

Strangely enough, that spawned a discussion of our respective nieces and nephews, watching from the outside, as we are, as their personalities develop and helping to form them. Maybe. Just a little.

One of my nieces asked me to play a board game. It was incredibly simple – roll a die and either pick fruit off the tree or add a piece to a blackbird puzzle. The intent of the game was to work as a team, to get all of the fruit off the tree before completing the bird. She was quite the little team player – cheering for my fruit picks as much as her own and lamenting the growing bird in her little, 4-year-old princess voice.

We don’t really have such games as grown ups. Not much anyway, but my friend did send me links. In one, people wear vintage keys and try to find the doors they unlock. Optional adventures include: "Ask people you meet while wearing your key if they have any clues for you" and "Make a list of exciting places where your lock might be waiting for you. Go there!"

I thought about getting my own, wearing one around my neck and spending the rest of my life searching. Who knows where it would lead?

In another game, a version of Killer, something we used to play when teachers got sick of us in the long stretch between spring break and summer, when we’d finished the syllabus and they had no more to teach, no more to give.

Cruel 2 B Kind is a game of benevolent assassination.

At the beginning of the game, you and a partner-in-crime are assigned a secret weapon. To onlookers, it will seem like a random act of kindness. But to a select group of other players, the seemingly benevolent gesture is a deadly maneuver that will bring them to their knees.

Some players will be slain by a serenade. Others will be killed by a compliment. You and your partner might be taken down by an innocent group cheer.

I love the idea. The website even mentions the positive side effects on bystanders.

We could probably use more build-me-up games in our lives, corporate team building events aside. Childhood is rough. Life doesn’t get any easier the older we get and technology seems to aid the bullies as locker room pictures end up on the internet and adults feel vindicated in their comments and protected by first amendment rights and the anonymity of the internet.

Look at Kathy Sierra, a case of cyberbullying that’s turned into threats of violence, rape, death. I repeat: Death. Seriously? It’s all so unreal. Death threats? Over the internet? Because somebody doesn’t like the woman or something that she’s written? Said? The way she dresses? "Death threats against bloggers are NOT 'protected speech,'" she entitled a recent post. She's right.

PBS (or a writer there) declared today, March 30 as Stop Cyberbullying Day. The author urges people to speak up. To start a bigger conversation. To say “it’s not okay to create a website for the sole purpose of mocking others.” There is nothing good or right about it. Hatred begets hatred and this behavior is not acceptable.

The friend from the vitriol conversation forwarded me a link to an article on the subject. As we talked, I remembered a story my sister once told me about her then 5-year-old son standing on a playground. He was probably chewing on the neck of his shirt. He always chews on the neck of his shirt when he's nervous or shy and he's always nervous or shy in new situations with kids he doesn't know.

As my sister relayed it, my 5-year-old nephew, with chewed, sodden collar and bashful glance, stood at the edge of the playground watching the other kids play. He probably cowered a bit. Maybe he hid behind the giant water fountain that looked like a lion's head, playing with the mane, with the ears.

He probably shuffled his feet, my nephew. Pretending to look tough. Pretending he didn't care. Kicking rocks with slobber on his collar.

Eventually, the kids on the playground decided to play a new game. They decided to throw rocks at the shy kid, my nephew. Kids throwing rocks. Why a teacher didn't stop it, we will never know.

I don't even know how the story got to my sister. It might have been mulch. It might have been a rock or two embellished into a full-fledged fusillade when retold by my nephew. That's what kids do. They embellish. They make themselves look better.

In his version of the story, my sweet, bashful nephew cowered a minute before standing up for himself, before shouting at the kids.

"I am not a target!"

I heard him over the phone, in the background as my sister shared the story.

"I am not a target. That's what I said, Mom. I am not a target." He giggled with glee at the other end of the line. I could here the pride echoing across the line, and I knew he said that much.

I respected then and still admire the way he stood up for himself. I laughed long and hard at the mental image, but the laughter stemmed in pride and surprise. I shared the line with my roommate and I shared it with friends who knew the Kindergartner in question.

I don't remember how it ended. I might never have known if a teacher intervened or the kids stopped on their own. He's almost 9 now. He hasn't been stoned to death; something changed.

He still chews his shirt. He still shuffles his feet and pretends to be tough, pretends he doesn't care. He gets hurt easily, my sweet, sensitive nephew. He still crawls into my lap for comfort, knowing that I love him without question. Sometimes, though, he still stands up for himself.

"I am not a target!"

I could learn a lot from a 5-year-old.


Tag: stopcyberbullying Kids Playground