Anatomy of proto-bullies in kindergarten
Oct. 16th, 2010 11:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
msagaraLet me now take a moment to talk about the anatomy of social peer groups in school before I continue with the (long put off) next chapter in the school saga, because I think it's relevant. The roots of bullying as a social behaviour start here, and like any weed, it can be uprooted or it can be cultivated.
Actually, let me be vastly more specific. In my son's junior kindergarten (and all of the classes were jk/sk splits, except French, which was entirely senior kindergarden) class, there were two girls who were both alpha girls. They were popular girls and watching them for fifteen minutes filled me with revulsion, although it was very, very compelling. One was a blonde girl with the most cold and sullen expression. She was in charge of her small pack of friends; what she wanted, they did. She made clear if they didn't, they would not be her friend anymore--and in fifteen minutes, I saw this, because she was annoyed at one of the girls, and she effectively ostracized her from play and told her why: the girl had failed to give her something she'd wanted on the previous day.
This girl was like the leader of a dog pack--literally. I watched her walk across the playground and four of the other little girls were running around her in circles, the way dogs run around the pack-leader.
The other girl was dark haired, and also very political in her interactions, but I actually didn't mind her; she could, you know, smile without her face cracking. These two girls were not yet enemies, but they were gunning for the same thing: to be on the top of the social food chain, a position from which the world should--and in this case did--conform to their desires.
But they always used their words, never their little fists.
The boys, however, were vastly less social in that way. They could shove each other, push each other, hit each other, and half an hour later, be playing together with different toys. They were very rough sometimes, because they did lose their tempers, but it was actually easier for the teachers--if informed--to curb that behaviour.
There was one exception. Another little blond boy. And for me, he was scary in a different way. He also rarely smiled, and when he did, it was never for a good reason, but I could see--so clearly--that this boy understood one fundamental rule of social groups: There was always going to be a victim in any group, and he was going to make damn certain it wasn't him.
Sadly, the child he decided it would be instead was my son.
This child, I had severe issues with; he would try to push my son off the slide (and not down it), among other things. He could lie like an angel--which, at age four, was disturbing. How do I know? I saw him do something, and five minutes later, when he was asked if he'd done it, he said no, he'd been someplace else; if I hadn't seen him do it myself, I would have believed him.
Now step back, and look at this classroom for a moment, because every single child in it is either four or five years old. They love their parents; they go home and they play with their toys; they have moments of joy and moments of terror or tears. They are mostly very cute, they are mostly helpful (if you're adult) and interactive; they are--children. If they are interacting with adults, they lose a lot of the social gaming instinct, and they can be delightful.
Let me go one step further. In my very first post, I spoke about the fact that children would blame my son for things he hadn't done, and tell the teacher when he hit them back or grabbed the toy he'd been playing with back--both acts, in the beginning, for which my son would then receive a time-out.
I do not think this was in any way deliberate malice on the parts of those children. Did they understand that they could blame him for things because he wouldn't tell the teacher? No. I honestly believe that it never occurred to them. Did they blame him for everything because they knew he couldn't defend himself? No.
What was happening, then?
There are two things. The first actually had nothing to do with bullying, but rather with something mentioned in the previous post. The children had collectively seen my son in trouble so frequently at the beginning of the class that when anything bad happened, when anything was broken, and there was no obvious culprit, they genuinely assumed that my son was the one responsible. They weren't pointing him out to bully him; they were pointing him out because, given what they knew and what they heard of my son's name in that class environment, he had become the likely guilty child. It wasn't that he was their scapegoat; they believed this.
The second:
Children are remarkably clear about what they want, and they're remarkably focused on getting what they want. What they want, however, is a complicated matrix into which social approval (in their case, parental approval/teacher approval) is mixed with peer approval and their own innate personalities.
However, at the age of four, children focus on what they want, what they think is fun, and what they need. When Peter hit my son, he hit him because he was annoyed with my son. Not more, not less. I don't even think he paused to consider whether or not hitting my son was wrong or right; he just reacted without thought. When Peter was hit by my son, Peter was annoyed and outraged, because it hurt Peter, so he immediately went to the teacher.
No child in that situation innately feels that they deserve to be hit. The fact that Peter hit my son first did not enter into Peter's equation at all. To Peter, it was not an act of bullying; the only pleasure he took from getting my son into trouble was actually the righteous pleasure of watching my son get punished for hitting him.
Did I dislike Peter? Well, on a visceral level, yes. But on an intellectual level, no. I could see All Small Children (and some sadly emotionally arrested adults) in Peter's reaction. There is a reason, after all, that we are told to grow up.
The alpha girls were the same. They didn't consider themselves to be bullying because they never do. The Queen Bee honestly felt hurt and angry when the little girl she was ostracizing didn't give her what she wanted, and she responded in kind. Was she being reasonable? Hell, no. But reason is something that has to be learned, and it therefore has to be taught.
This is why parents are so much part of the equation of making a school a safe zone.
The mother of the scary girl? She was an elementary school teacher, and she could not see the dynamic of her daughter or her daughter's group at all. And many of the mothers did try to subtly talk to her about it, because it was so glaringly obvious, and it was a concern.
This blindness is, sadly, natural. Parents love their children, and frequently, they just do not see them clearly in any context but parent-child interaction.
The mother of the other little girl, her putative rival, however? Eventually, some of the parents (not including me, because by that point she was in a different stream) got together and approached her mother because the dynamic was becoming scary. The mother's response?
"I was never popular as child. Never. And my daughter is going to be the most popular child in the school, I don't care what it costs or what it takes." She truly didn't; she would hire ponies for play dates. No, I am not making this up.
The only child of the pack that I considered well on his way to entrenched beta bully behaviour was the hell boy. Because he was the only one who was intent on preserving his own emotional well-being by ensuring that anyone else was the whipping boy. But he was also four years old.
And now the bad thing: I didn't really notice the children who didn't cause my son difficulties--and actually that was the majority of that class. I would come to know--and love--them as the years went on.
I tried, very hard, to see my son as the other kids saw him--and at least in this, the whole process of writing, of thinking about viewpoint, was actually very, very useful.
Actually, let me be vastly more specific. In my son's junior kindergarten (and all of the classes were jk/sk splits, except French, which was entirely senior kindergarden) class, there were two girls who were both alpha girls. They were popular girls and watching them for fifteen minutes filled me with revulsion, although it was very, very compelling. One was a blonde girl with the most cold and sullen expression. She was in charge of her small pack of friends; what she wanted, they did. She made clear if they didn't, they would not be her friend anymore--and in fifteen minutes, I saw this, because she was annoyed at one of the girls, and she effectively ostracized her from play and told her why: the girl had failed to give her something she'd wanted on the previous day.
This girl was like the leader of a dog pack--literally. I watched her walk across the playground and four of the other little girls were running around her in circles, the way dogs run around the pack-leader.
The other girl was dark haired, and also very political in her interactions, but I actually didn't mind her; she could, you know, smile without her face cracking. These two girls were not yet enemies, but they were gunning for the same thing: to be on the top of the social food chain, a position from which the world should--and in this case did--conform to their desires.
But they always used their words, never their little fists.
The boys, however, were vastly less social in that way. They could shove each other, push each other, hit each other, and half an hour later, be playing together with different toys. They were very rough sometimes, because they did lose their tempers, but it was actually easier for the teachers--if informed--to curb that behaviour.
There was one exception. Another little blond boy. And for me, he was scary in a different way. He also rarely smiled, and when he did, it was never for a good reason, but I could see--so clearly--that this boy understood one fundamental rule of social groups: There was always going to be a victim in any group, and he was going to make damn certain it wasn't him.
Sadly, the child he decided it would be instead was my son.
This child, I had severe issues with; he would try to push my son off the slide (and not down it), among other things. He could lie like an angel--which, at age four, was disturbing. How do I know? I saw him do something, and five minutes later, when he was asked if he'd done it, he said no, he'd been someplace else; if I hadn't seen him do it myself, I would have believed him.
Now step back, and look at this classroom for a moment, because every single child in it is either four or five years old. They love their parents; they go home and they play with their toys; they have moments of joy and moments of terror or tears. They are mostly very cute, they are mostly helpful (if you're adult) and interactive; they are--children. If they are interacting with adults, they lose a lot of the social gaming instinct, and they can be delightful.
Let me go one step further. In my very first post, I spoke about the fact that children would blame my son for things he hadn't done, and tell the teacher when he hit them back or grabbed the toy he'd been playing with back--both acts, in the beginning, for which my son would then receive a time-out.
I do not think this was in any way deliberate malice on the parts of those children. Did they understand that they could blame him for things because he wouldn't tell the teacher? No. I honestly believe that it never occurred to them. Did they blame him for everything because they knew he couldn't defend himself? No.
What was happening, then?
There are two things. The first actually had nothing to do with bullying, but rather with something mentioned in the previous post. The children had collectively seen my son in trouble so frequently at the beginning of the class that when anything bad happened, when anything was broken, and there was no obvious culprit, they genuinely assumed that my son was the one responsible. They weren't pointing him out to bully him; they were pointing him out because, given what they knew and what they heard of my son's name in that class environment, he had become the likely guilty child. It wasn't that he was their scapegoat; they believed this.
The second:
Children are remarkably clear about what they want, and they're remarkably focused on getting what they want. What they want, however, is a complicated matrix into which social approval (in their case, parental approval/teacher approval) is mixed with peer approval and their own innate personalities.
However, at the age of four, children focus on what they want, what they think is fun, and what they need. When Peter hit my son, he hit him because he was annoyed with my son. Not more, not less. I don't even think he paused to consider whether or not hitting my son was wrong or right; he just reacted without thought. When Peter was hit by my son, Peter was annoyed and outraged, because it hurt Peter, so he immediately went to the teacher.
No child in that situation innately feels that they deserve to be hit. The fact that Peter hit my son first did not enter into Peter's equation at all. To Peter, it was not an act of bullying; the only pleasure he took from getting my son into trouble was actually the righteous pleasure of watching my son get punished for hitting him.
Did I dislike Peter? Well, on a visceral level, yes. But on an intellectual level, no. I could see All Small Children (and some sadly emotionally arrested adults) in Peter's reaction. There is a reason, after all, that we are told to grow up.
The alpha girls were the same. They didn't consider themselves to be bullying because they never do. The Queen Bee honestly felt hurt and angry when the little girl she was ostracizing didn't give her what she wanted, and she responded in kind. Was she being reasonable? Hell, no. But reason is something that has to be learned, and it therefore has to be taught.
This is why parents are so much part of the equation of making a school a safe zone.
The mother of the scary girl? She was an elementary school teacher, and she could not see the dynamic of her daughter or her daughter's group at all. And many of the mothers did try to subtly talk to her about it, because it was so glaringly obvious, and it was a concern.
This blindness is, sadly, natural. Parents love their children, and frequently, they just do not see them clearly in any context but parent-child interaction.
The mother of the other little girl, her putative rival, however? Eventually, some of the parents (not including me, because by that point she was in a different stream) got together and approached her mother because the dynamic was becoming scary. The mother's response?
"I was never popular as child. Never. And my daughter is going to be the most popular child in the school, I don't care what it costs or what it takes." She truly didn't; she would hire ponies for play dates. No, I am not making this up.
The only child of the pack that I considered well on his way to entrenched beta bully behaviour was the hell boy. Because he was the only one who was intent on preserving his own emotional well-being by ensuring that anyone else was the whipping boy. But he was also four years old.
And now the bad thing: I didn't really notice the children who didn't cause my son difficulties--and actually that was the majority of that class. I would come to know--and love--them as the years went on.
I tried, very hard, to see my son as the other kids saw him--and at least in this, the whole process of writing, of thinking about viewpoint, was actually very, very useful.
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Date: 2010-10-17 11:58 am (UTC)As someone who's grown up with ASD, this is -- almost painfully familiar, actually. It's touching to see how refreshingly you're in touch with how your son views the world, and while I definitely don't identify with all of his thought patterns, many of them strike a pretty solid chord with me.
Your son's pretty blessed to have parents who understand him so well--don't get me wrong, my parents are also awesome, but they didn't even know what Asperger's was until I was 9 (they're older--my mom's close to 60), and they never got personal counsel afaik on how to deal with it, just sent me to a few cool therapists (is that the term? I didn't find out until I was 14 that there was something wrong with me, because they were afraid of making me scared, I just thought the--behavorial therapists-- were neat adults I played with). Um, so your points about parents from other groups "normalizing" their children out of love -- yeah. I get it. I can pass, I mean, as normal--partially due to mildness--but it definitely ... it's probably not the best choice.
Um, also, your comment about your son not realizing everyone didn't know what he knew made me laugh sheepishly, because I still deal with that. Er, not to his extent, of course. I am 21, I've grown up a bit :). But sometimes the lovely people who know my thought processes have to remind me. (I also tend to assume that if I have not been told relevant facts, and have not uncovered any during my research, they do not exist! Because if they existed, clearly someone would have told me, right...? :))
I'm really lucky that my Asperger's is pretty mild, though, and that my parents are now quite supportive of me as I sort through my muck. Don't get me wrong! I know that. But ... thank you for writing this, both for yourself and for other ASD parents out there. I keep tearing up a bit, and -- well, I wish it was the sort of thing my parents had been exposed to. I think it would have eased a lot of their worries to know other people went through this, and had advice, and I'm sure it's something that's a balm to other parents' hearts, too.
Thank you.