Last night, I went to see "Finding Kind," a film about girl-on-girl bullying. As she entered, I asked my friend if I could sit with her. She joked that I could, yes, but only if I wouldn't sit with anyone else, a wink we shared together. The auditorium was too chilly, so my friend and I leaned against one another, hoping to share a little of the warmth we feel for each other. At one point, early on, my typical tears tumbled out, and she patted my face; when her jacket slipped off her shoulder, I drew it back up for her.
As I snuggled deep down into the warmth that is this woman, I looked out into the dark at all the other women, many of whom were my friends, and I cozied up. All that warmth, and all that love, filled the space. I could feel it deep down in my bones, and I thought: how fucking lucky am I to have lucked into this?
Growing up, I was the perennial new girl. My parents moved nearly every year, and even when we stayed in one place for five whole years, I went to two different schools. I was a quirky, serious kid, much like my older son, and as intense then as I am now. Desperate to make friends, and needy by nature, I was vulnerable to the whims of whatever social scene I was only negligibly a part of. At best, my friendships were fleeting, but with each new friendship, I felt (a tentative) hopefulness that this one would be the one to endure. And then, for reasons I couldn't understand, I would be out, and my social standing would suffer for the rest of the year, until some girl who was in an even worse position than I would reach out to me. Only to reject me a little later, when I would sink even lower in the pecking order. I was a terrifically easy mark, and there was that terrible year when I had no friend at all, and missed 46 days of school.
My parents didn't know what to do about bullying; in fact, they didn't take it too seriously. "They're just jealous," was the best that they could do. But now, I'm the parent, and I have to take it seriously. I have to figure this out for my daughter, but not just for her; I have to get it right for all the other daughters who my girl sits with at lunch, or at the table in the classroom, or on the playground. We each have an obligation to them, to save them from the bullying bullshit that may ruin their self-esteem in the decades to come. We have to be kind towards them and do them this monumental favor, because they need us. It's the message of the film: be kind. Teach your kids to be kind. Just that. It will make the single biggest difference.
My daughter, Lina, had a contentious group of girls who made no sense to her in the first grade. Though they were a great group of little people, being shepherded through their day by the best teacher I've ever known, they played the "You can't be friends with me if you're friends with her" game of hearts. And it broke mine. At only six years old, my daughter was being bullied. At only six years old, she knew it, too.l So we sat down together, and this is what I told her:
I told her that sometimes, you have to allow other girls to have the space they need to grow up, and screw up. Friendships ebb and flow with the tide; what goes out will likely come back, and if it doesn't, you can catch another tide that helps you swim more strongly. Never forget that when someone screws up with you, you can forgive them, and then find your own way until things settle down. Keep in mind that another person's drama is only yours if you buy a ticket to the show. Let people go about their lives with grace, don't expect too much from them, and be your own best friend. These are the ways that "being kind" makes sense to me and, I hope, to my daughter. Whether through this magic, or because she's just this way by nature, Lina is perfectly herself with her friends now, perfectly at ease in her skin. She doesn't ride the tide: she is the tide. And she's always throwing lifejackets to those who look like they're in trouble. Her kindness will save someone somewhere down the line, I know.
Cameron's did that night.
