Grade School Drama

Rob let it slip this morning that one of Ashton’s classmates told her a while back that he does not like me. Where does an adult go with that? It’s not like he’s ever been to our house or that I’ve volunteered in the classroom. Our completely non-verbal acquaintance is limited to about three minutes of exposure to my apparently heinous self when I deposit Ashton into her morning line. I wish I could be a big enough person to let it slide, but let’s face it – I’m really not. In fact, I revel in occasional pettiness, and it matters not one whit that the object of today’s pettiness is a six year old boy.

I think what really bothers me, though, is that he said it to Ashton. She is simply not the type of child who understands pith, pettiness or general nastiness. Yes, I understand how heroically ironic that is given her parentage. The universe has to balance itself out somehow. She has not yet even worked up to hurt feelings when confronted with a nasty little playmate because her brain is still busily trying to ascertain the “why” of such behavior. I love this innocence and openness and pray that she maintains the strength of character needed to hold on to her belief in goodness while dodging the barbs of childhood and adolescence.

Meanwhile, I am trapped. I would dearly love to say something to the mother of our questionably mannered antagonist about saying something unkind to my child, but really, is there any possible way I could walk away from that conversation without looking like I care that it was about me?

I didn’t think so.