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Oct. 23rd, 2009 11:42 pm"No one likes me," he mumbled, wrapped like a mummy in his old Thomas the Tank Engine comforter. "Not you," he was quick to add when I tried to protest. "Everyone at school."
My heart sank. Suddenly I was the skinny 11 year old who was universally known as "Fleabags" -- the one nobody would sit with at lunch. I retreated into my books and into my head, daily becoming more the freak everyone thought I was. We moved before I started high school and I was so excited about making a fresh start, but there must be a way that people are marked by that sort of experience. Before Thanksgiving I'd acquired the fetching nickname of "Muttley" (who knew I could simultaneously cry and invent lame puns?).
Middle school was 30 years ago, but it's not hard to remember how painful it was. To have to watch him go through the same thing is worse.
Most of the time, he seems perfectly happy alone. He probably is. Associating with his classmates might be something he wouldn't have chosen anyway, but it's hurtful to be excluded. My own experience bears this out -- at my 10-year high school reunion I realized that I hadn't missed much by not having been friends with my classmates.
The thing is, even though I know that middle school and high school weren't the end of the world, that experience shaped who I am. It manifests now as social anxiety, rearing its ugly head when I worry that I've offended someone. And it renders me almost completely unable to advocate for my son, or even to teach him coping skills.
He's so smart, and talented, and has such a good heart.
I don't know what to do.
My heart sank. Suddenly I was the skinny 11 year old who was universally known as "Fleabags" -- the one nobody would sit with at lunch. I retreated into my books and into my head, daily becoming more the freak everyone thought I was. We moved before I started high school and I was so excited about making a fresh start, but there must be a way that people are marked by that sort of experience. Before Thanksgiving I'd acquired the fetching nickname of "Muttley" (who knew I could simultaneously cry and invent lame puns?).
Middle school was 30 years ago, but it's not hard to remember how painful it was. To have to watch him go through the same thing is worse.
Most of the time, he seems perfectly happy alone. He probably is. Associating with his classmates might be something he wouldn't have chosen anyway, but it's hurtful to be excluded. My own experience bears this out -- at my 10-year high school reunion I realized that I hadn't missed much by not having been friends with my classmates.
The thing is, even though I know that middle school and high school weren't the end of the world, that experience shaped who I am. It manifests now as social anxiety, rearing its ugly head when I worry that I've offended someone. And it renders me almost completely unable to advocate for my son, or even to teach him coping skills.
He's so smart, and talented, and has such a good heart.
I don't know what to do.
