What do bad kids deserve?
Do they deserve our patience?
Do they deserve our best assumptions?
Do bad kids deserve friends?
Does a bad kid deserve to tell their side of the story?
Do bad kids deserve second chances? Third? Fourth?
Does a bad kid deserve to be believed?
Do bad kids deserve the label “bad kid?”
Do bad kids deserve the heavy weight of adult judgment?
Do bad kids deserve the opportunity to change and improve?
I remember my answers to all of these questions from a year ago, right before feisty Reese fell into that “bad kid” pit. My answers are different now.
Reese’s arms were shovels, digging and digging no matter how she moved. She didn’t choose the shovels. She didn’t want to dig. In fact, most of our deep conversations revolve around her desperation to STOP DIGGING. She doesn’t want to be a bad kid, and yet she can read the signs above the pit.
It broke my heart to see so many adults, and not a few children, stand on the edges of her pit, staring down, pointing.
A teacher refusing to let her out, refusing to reach down a hand.
An adult man calling her a brat to her face.
Friends who loved to play, and then stopped coming over, stopped letting her in.
People that I love and trust talking about her negatively when we’re not there.
The scapegoating at every turn.
I can’t blame them. She’s hard. She makes mistakes. She breaks rules. She’s loud. She’s reactive. She lashes out. She pushes boundaries. I know better than anyone.
Teachers have to run classes, parents don’t want their kid acting like her, kids don’t want her bossing up their playtime.
But she is only 7 and her tiny heart breaks every time, so mine does too.
What does she deserve?
I wish I could ask everyone to cut her some slack.
I wish I could ask everyone to give her another chance.
I wish I could ask everyone if they think their kid never does anything wrong when they’re not looking.
I wish I could ask everyone to consider the possibility that she didn’t choose a spirited temperament.
I wish I could tell everyone how hard she’s been working. How much sleep we’ve all lost. The tears they would see when she asks “why is it so much easier for other people to be nice?” The books I’ve read. Podcasts I’ve listened to. Behavior charts and parenting methods tried. Modeling and re-enactments and do-overs. Therapy and rewards.
I wish everyone could see Reese march over to someone with special needs and start talking to them, including them and treating them as a complete equal.
I wish everyone could see Reese creating elaborate plans out of nothing—and executing them to precision.
I wish everyone could hear Reese explain the word “transgender” to her sister, patiently telling her about the activist in her Rebel Girls book and how we need to love and respect people no matter what their bodies look like or what they want to be called.
I wish everyone could see Reese read a chapter book in a single afternoon, then give a synopsis with perfect reading comprehension.
I wish I didn’t care so much what other people think about her, our parenting, our perceived failures.
In the end, it doesn’t matter that I think she deserves better (better from me, better from her teachers, better from adults in general). I can’t change other people’s perceptions.
I can only be grateful that there is value to be found on this path.
When I see the mom with the kid having a nuclear meltdown at Target, I now know she deserves compassion. And the kid does, too.
When a kid playing at my house says something mean or causes a problem, I now know that he deserves my most generous assumption rather than my worst. And his parents do, too.
When people are shocked by Reese’s intensity and say shitty things like “I don’t know how you do it” or “I could never deal with that,” I know they deserve my patience. It’s not their fault that they don’t understand spirited children (I’ve learned that you don’t get it until you GET IT), just like it’s not our fault that she came to us spirited.
When I encounter a child that is weird or feisty or different in some way (aren’t they all, though?), I know that the child and their parents deserve an ally and not one more critic, because I know the hidden hours of anxiety and tears and concern that have likely been spent on that child.
My compassion has grown; my patience is strengthened. My relationships and love for the people who love Reese exactly as she is, standing by even in her wildest storms, have deepened exponentially. It has brought me to my knees.
Despite every dark moment, every shed tear, I love Reese FOR her spirited temperament. I’ll continue to weather each storm with her, even when she deserves better. I am so grateful for the wins we’ve bought with blood. We’ll keep pressing on no matter what.
Because she deserves the world.
