Girl Trouble

Mallory went to play with her across-the-street friends last week. I think that I’ve previously referred to them as Maggie and Lizzie, so I’ll stick with that although those are not their actual names. Anyway. Mallory used to love to play with Maggie and Lizzie, would beg every day to play with Maggie and Lizzie, and in fact spent every Friday of last school year over there.

Well, she came home last Sunday and said, “I am never going to play at Maggie and Lizzie’s house again. You can’t make me.”

Upon questioning, she would only say that they were mean to her. She wouldn’t provide any other details, but she has remained steadfast in her refusal to play with them. A couple of times she’s said, “Can I play with Maggie and Lizzie –“ and then caught herself and said, “—oh wait, they’re mean, never mind.”

I don’t know exactly what happened. I have noticed in the past that the oldest was a bit snotty to Mallory, but not earth-shatteringly so. I certainly don’t think that their mother would have tolerated any mean-ness going on out in the open, so I can only assume that the girls got in some kind of fight when out of the mom’s earshot.

I’m sorry about it, not least because these people are our neighbors, after all. My main reaction, however, is, this is happening already? She’s only five!

I know little girls – well, big girls too -- are notorious for being fickle about their friends. When I was a teenager, I used to declare that I didn’t want daughters, only sons, because I knew how hard it was to be a teenage girl and I didn’t want to have to watch any daughter of mine go through that. (Apparently it didn’t occur to me that teenage boys have their own problems.) The cliques, the jousting for position, the endless assessment of who’s popular and who’s not – it’s the stuff of nightmares.

And I’m ashamed to say that I was as bad as they come, at least in junior high. I was one of a group of five friends known as the “smart kids.” We were picked on because we read books (gasp!) and weren’t that pretty (although who really is pretty in junior high?) and weren’t good at sports. I should’ve been grateful that, in the face of all that, I had four good friends to hang out with. Instead, I was always deciding that I was mad at one of them or not speaking to the other. I am really ashamed of this behavior now; I cringe to remember it. I’m sure it never occurred to me that I was as cruel to my friends as the “popular kids” were to me. With the space of time I realize that I was just trying to assert a bit of power over the situation. Plus, I was known as the “Smartest Girl in School” -- it wasn’t much, but it was all I had -- but I think I must have known deep down that in fact two of my friends were probably smarter than I was in some ways, which in turn made me feel insecure, so I retaliated by not speaking them for months at a time. Why they stuck with me, I do not know. I managed to get over myself by eighth grade, I think, and we did fine throughout high school. By the time I was a sophomore I didn’t even care about being popular. But I wouldn’t wish those middle years on my worst enemy.

Or on my daughters, to come back to the point, but I guess they’re going to have to go through all that anyway. I hope they make it through unscathed. I hope they are able to care more for their friends’ feelings than for their own status. I hope they don’t judge themselves by the arbitrary standards of the “popular” kids. I hope they judge others by the amount of brains and humor and compassion and kindness they possess, rather by the kinds of jeans they were or the brand of cell phones they have. Mostly I hope no one is ever mean to my kids. Because I can shield them from the across-the-street neighbors if I have to, but I can’t shield them from the whole world. What’s that saying – having a child is allowing your heart to walk around outside of your body. I don’t know if I’m ready for heartbreak yet.