Tough Guy
By Glinda
The Munchkin and I were walking to the diamond where his Tee-ball practice was going to be held. The “diamond” is really just a backstop on the infield of a track. We were on that track, minding our own business, the Munchkin wandering along as five year olds are wont to do. Then his amble turned into a sudden veer to the right as some whim overtook him to go that way.
Unfortunately, that veer took him right into the path of a nine year old on a bicycle. Going much too fast for a track with people walking on it.
I watched it all in that famous slo-mo where your mouth opens to scream, but it all happens too quickly for you to actually do anything other than scream. I think I scared the crap out of the kid on the bike, actually.
And before I knew it, five year old, nine year old and nine year old’s bike were in the dirt. With the five year old on the bottom.
That bike hit him really hard, pushing him forward and down, with the wheel making impact on his right hip.
I pulled the nine and the bike off, probably a bit too roughly, but I was pissed. I was worried.
The Munchkin’s face was tore up pretty good. Unbeknownst to me, so were his left leg and arm, which were hidden underneath his clothes. Multiple bruises would also pop up later.
There were tears in his eyes, but none coming down his face.
Kneeling in the dirt, almost sobbing with fear and relief, I checked him over. I told him that if he didn’t want to practice, it was ok. If he was sore and wanted to go home and clean up, that was fine. If he was scared and upset, as I was, it was ok to cry.
No Mom, I’m fine.
Tears still in the eyes, but not down the face.
The coach had also seen the drama unfold and also checked him for injuries. He told him he could sit down for a while until he felt like practicing.
No coach, I’m fine.
Tears had yet to make it down the face. And nor would they at any point during practice, despite the pain he must have been in.
A couple of practices later, the coach told me how impressed he was with what a tough little guy I had. He couldn’t believe that he didn’t cry after getting whomped like that with the bike.
And through this conversation, though I nodded and agreed on the toughness, all I could think of was a conversation I had with the Munchkin on the first day of practice. How I had told my sometimes overly emotional son to not cry at Tee-ball. I was afraid that the other boys would sense weakness and pick on him, and I wanted to protect him from that. My sensitive, perfectionist boy, I knew that he would get upset at himself if he didn’t throw or hit properly, and so I was attempting to teach him how to deal with disappointment without tears.
As the coach told me how proud I should be of my son who didn’t cry, my heart broke a little.
I should have known that my son would listen to my instructions and think that to cry would be to disappoint me. That even in pain, he would remember my admonition.
And I hate myself. More than just a little.
April 30th, 2008 at 7:40 am
You shouldn’t feel bad. Now he’s got a choice; he knows he CAN cry, and you said that’s okay. He’s just developed the ability not to if he doesn’t want to. He now has more than one way to handle emotion, so you did good.
But my god, “The Munchin’s face was tore up pretty good” is just not something you ever want to read. Or type.
April 30th, 2008 at 8:44 am
Glinda, I hereby grant you permission to remove the hair shirt. This is not all your doing. There is some kind of weird “play through the pain” code hard wired into the DNA of most male children that kicks in when they start to play sports. I think that their teamates give off these “tough it out” pheramones that trigger the reaction that the munchkin demonstrated. My son once played an entire game of Little League baseball rafter getting hit in the face with the ball and breaking his nose. Trust me, they learn to “take one for the team” at a very early age. I agree with raincoaster. The munchkin now knows there are 2 options open to him when dealing with pain and both are OK. Poor little guy, hope he is doing lots better.
April 30th, 2008 at 11:48 am
Oh Glinda, it’s okay. Sometimes you can’t know that the advice you give for one situation will be applied equally to another where it isn’t as useful. Boys get the message early and often from all sorts of sources that tears aren’t allowed to them. Who knows for sure whether it was your words that first day or the coach’s words ever since that made him think crying was bad and weak? After all, if he said multiple times that you should be proud of him for not crying, chances are he’s heard the ‘don’t cry’ message reinforced at least a few times on the T-ball diamond. In the aftermath of the accident, you gave him good advice: to allow himself what outlet he needed. With a bit of luck and a good tailwind, maybe he’ll listen to that bit of advice when he really needs it.
In the meantime, I’m sending ice cream and hugs to both you and the Munchkin. It sounds like you could both use them.
April 30th, 2008 at 6:21 pm
I cried a little tear for the Munchkin and you Glinda. Who hurt worse, the little man being brave thru the pain or his mum feeling guilty for more reasons than she should? Yes, we tell our little boys to buck up and be brave. That boys don’t cry. We cuddle our little girls and tell them to get it out, they will feel better. We swear we won’t raise our kids based on stereotypes but find ourselves channeling the same messages our parents gave us. It is a fine line we tread. You are doing fine, you are aware, and you will be there when the Munchkin falls and cries. You will be there when he pushes you away and tells you to stop treating him like a baby. And you will be there each time telling him that’s OK.
May 1st, 2008 at 9:02 pm
Poor little Munchkin. He’ll be okay, though. He’s got a good momma who loves him and wants him to be happy and healthy.
Be gentle with yourself, Glinda. None of us do it perfectly.
May 3rd, 2008 at 2:27 am
Don’t kick yourself. I’m with raincoaster and gemdiva on this one. I think you taught him an important lesson in controlling himself and his emotions. He knows that its OK to cry if he needs to, but also, that he doesn’t have to in order to handle pain. Self-control over actions and emotional responses will serve him well his whole life. Just look at the number of adults who haven’t mastered that skill!
That said, “OUCH!” I would be a wreck and immediately want to whisk him away home to pamper. Good thing I have a few years before kiddo has t-ball. (Even at three, though, one of his favorite phrases is “I fine!” often yelled out dramatically after a spill. Gemdiva’s right, it’s genetic.)
May 5th, 2008 at 12:56 am
It’s an instinctual response. “Don’t cry, don’t cry!” because kids work themselves up once they start a-wailing. I say it to my daughter just as you would say it to your son and I think that makes it even.
You didn’t do anything wrong! I am always saying, “Oh, you’re fine, you’re fine!” while yanking her up from the ground. Then there’s a moment where I pause and double check–“Are you okay, baby?” And she says either that she’s okay or that she got an owie, but since I’m not freaking out she’s not freaking out. I think it’s for the best!