When That Kid is Your Kid

I am mom to That Kid (hereafter referred to as T.K.) The one your own well-behaved kids come home and tell stories about.

"Sid was lifting a chair to show how strong he was, so T.K. THREW a chair to show how strong HE was. Nobody got hurt, but he had to go to the principal's office."

"Janette and her sister wouldn't let T.K. play on the benches with them. They said the benches were just for girls. Then they called Janette's big sister to make him go away. She pushed him, so he hit her. Then he got mad and called her a penis. He had to go to the principal's office."

"T.K. put his gum in Charlie's hair. Mrs. McCloud the secretary got it out with cooking oil. T.K. had to go to the principal's office."

"T.K. really hates spelling tests. His writing is SOOO bad. He hid in the coat closet when it was time for the test and wouldn't come out. He had to go to the principal's office."

Sense any repeating themes here? We spend a lot of time in the principal's office. A *lot*. Hearing phrases like, "he makes bad choices". Boy, am I getting tired of that particular one. It makes it sound like T.K. stands there, tapping his six-year-old cheek thoughtfully while he considers the situation. "Do the thing that will get me in a lot of trouble, gain me no rewards or pleasure, and cause my classmates to point fingers at me? Or shall I choose the more conventional and societally expected route? Hmmmm... Oh, heck, ya gotta live large."

This is the point in the discussion where you lucky folks whose kids have always complied easily with authority roll your eyes and mutter something about (passive/uninvolved/permissive/inconsistent/noncontingent/lazy) parents. (Take your pick.) I assure you, we're not any of those. I stayed home with my kids. They have limits, and consequences. I limit their screen time, don't permit violent videogames or programs, feed them healthy food, encourage collaborative play, make sure they get lots of exercise outdoors, assign chores, all that good stuff. The humbling surprise has been to find out that I *don't* control the personalities that my kids arrive with. T.K. is T.K. My job is now to figure out how to help him function and succeed in a school system whose expectations he's (often spectacularly) unable to meet for six straight hours a day.

Somewhere in the last few decades, we had a continental shift in the education system. On the up side, systematic bullying is less acceptable. That's good. We talk about concepts like "empathy" and "self-esteem" and other very important things. Also good. But dear heavens, we expect a lotta control. Control of one's emotions, control of one's fidgetiness, control of one's attention, control of one's impulses, control (a toughie for many three-and-four-year-olds) of bladder and bowels, control of one's preadolescent sense of humour, six straight hours of perfect control, while executing someone else's agenda, which may or may not be any fun. Do-able for some kids, and for the others there's no shortage of blame and shame. For the kid, and also, of course, their parents, who clearly haven't done a very good job. Never mind kid -- your parents clearly messed up, but for you we have time-out chairs and behaviour-mod sticker charts at the ready. And if those don't turn you away from your criminal ways in short order, then you need a label. ODD, ADD, PDD-NOS... it seems that just being six years old (or five, or four, or three) is no longer sufficient explanation of your persistently childish behaviour.

Yes, yes, I do realize that there are diagnosable disorders and mental illnesses out there, and early help is key for helping those kids grow up to be the best and happiest selves they can be. And I also realize that many of you were traumatized by bona fide bullies who went out of their way to make your life a personal hell. But I live in the in-between zone, and somewhere along the way, "immature kid" turned into "bad kid". The Kid Who Makes Bad Choices.

This blog is my way to blow off steam as T.K. and I (and his father, and his sister) navigate our way through the school system, one day at a time. And also to extend a hand to other parents who dread seeing the school's number show up on the call display, who burn with frustration and shame when they overhear teachers, and other parents, and their perfectly-behaved-in-school offspring, talking about that kid.

That Kid.