A Moment in the Garden

I was just biding time until the kindergarten's whistle blew.  I was admiring the worm the boys dug up in the yes, you can dig there raised bed when I felt a presence at my side.  That's not unusual; my arms are often found embracing someone in the garden, often for no reason at all.

But this was different. She was a 4th grader.  She was the only big kid and she was not happy.  I sat back on the bench, and so did she.  She agreed with my assessment of her face - she was sad.  Four classmates decided to say bad things about her mother.

I didn't ask what they said.  Instead, I asked her what she hoped would happen.  Her English wasn't adequate for all of her feelings; she's an Afghani refugee still picking up the pieces, one by one.  I gleaned most of my information from short questions using small words. Did she want them to leave her alone or to be her friends?  Did she want an apology or just to be respected?  

We agreed that they were not the kind of people whose words should be able to hurt her heart.  They weren't kind.  

The whistle blew and I hustled the little ones out of the garden, leaving her alone with her thoughts in the most peaceful place on the playground.  She watched me walk over to the swings where her assailants were slowly swaying.  She watched me put my hands on my hips, look over at the garden, then begin my chat.

What did we dooooooo? didn't get very far with me, nor did It wasn't me.  Their faces said it all - they were miscreants and they'd been found out..  I talked about kindness and the Prince family ethos.  I asked them to look in their hearts and see if they found the person who'd been so mean, or if their hearts were telling them that I'm sorry might not be the worst outcome here.

I left them swinging.  The Assistant Principal stopped me as I walked between the soccer goals.  Was everything okay?  Did he need to talk to those girls?  I assured him that their chastisement had been sufficient, but that the lonely kid in the garden could probably use a hug.

I turned and watched it unfold - his tall and lanky frame loping across the grass, ready to offer succor where it was needed, while the Mean Girls, sure he was coming to them, watched the attention switch from their behavior to the one who had been wronged.  

I went on to read Bear Despair to eager 5 and 6 year old faces, too young to taunt and hurt one another.