One of the painful realities of having a child like Esmé is thinking about her being left out by her peers.
As I think I have said before, dear readers, I was a weird kid…and a weird young adult…and a weird teenager. (And…I am pretty sure I am a weird adult.) I was left out a fair amount–because I was weird, precocious, overly excited, and a total nerd. And, as a general rule, I most enjoy adults who were kids like that. They were left out because they saw the world differently and became sensitive adults as a result. My kind of left out is the kind that, as my father would say, “builds character.”
Nobody wants to see their child left out…but my situation was “typical” kids stuff. I wasn’t a “cool” kid. Big deal, right? But with a child like Esmé it is going to be a constant battle of a very different sort. A battle to engage her peers and, more importantly, with their parents and other adults.
I already see the reality of Ezzy being left out in her limited social engagements with peers. They move so fast, they think she is a “baby,” and they look confused when she does not return their waves and “hellos.” Ez doesn’t seem to mind. She thinks other kids are great and she smiles and wiggles with excitement when she sees them running around. We see glimpses of frustration when they move too quickly or stop paying attention to her, but generally it is all ok for her….for now.
To an extent I understand that all children are left out at times. And I don’t expect small children to know how to include Esmé in many of their activities. And I am so grateful when other parents help facilitate interactions between their children and Esmé…encouraging their children to talk about what Esmé is doing, share their toys with her, and so on. So many of my friends with children are outstanding at this. And, I am often pleasantly surprised by the random parents we meet out and about.
But it is the adults in this world that exclude her–sometimes just due to lack of knowledge for how to engage her–it makes me very sad, and, occasionally, when it feels purposeful, exceedingly, bloodcurdlingly angry. It has happened before and it will happen again. And I will take a deep breath, hear my dad saying “It builds character,” and move on.
But, I know, Ezzy doesn’t care…I guess I am the one building my character, she already has plenty. I care for her, but she doesn’t know that she hasn’t been invited into whatever little inner circle “cool kid” table the children (and adults) in this world devise. And we don’t need a cool kid table, we have a “CUTE” kids table…even if it is just the two of us, I can’t think of anywhere either of us would rather be.