An anti-bullying Public Service Announcement I’ve been hearing on the radio recently got me thinking about three rules my mother taught me for getting along with others in the world.
Rule 1
The first lesson came when I was about five and told my best friend, who was also my next-door neighbor, that she stunk.
She went home in tears, and her mother called my mother, and my mother said I had to go tell my friend I was sorry.
I protested, in tears. “But she does stink!” I told my mother, confused because I had already learned that it was wrong not to tell the truth.
My mother explained that the neighbors used a certain kind of oil on my friend’s skin to keep it soft, and that although I might find its smell unusual and even unpleasant, to them it had a soothing smell.
It was unkind of me to say that someone smells bad, my mother said. Then she told me The First Rule: “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”
That rule has served me well. I’ve learned to keep my personal judgments to myself, or, when it seems necessary to speak out, to state my objections to someone’s behavior or remarks as tactfully as I can.
Rule 2
I learned my second lesson when a neighborhood bully called me a stupid brat.
My mom knew that other people aren’t always taught to keep unkind words to themselves. So she taught me The Second Rule: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me.”
Words were only words. They told you more about the person who spoke them than they did about you.
It was a popular rule in those days. It was like an invisible shield that bounced your assailant’s words right back at him, leaving you unscathed. You could hear kids on the playground at school yelling it at kids who were taunting them. It let them feel empowered. More kids ought to learn it today.
Instead, we seem to be teaching kids that others who haven’t learned The First Rule are criminals of sorts who need to be reported and punished, maybe banished from the playground altogether.
Sure, if we’re being threatened with physical violence, the situation requires some swift and effective intervention. But teaching kids that being called a name is devastating teaches them to feel vulnerable and to assign to the offender the power to wound with mere words.
Rule 3
A better alternative is to teach kids The Third Rule that I was lucky enough to learn from my mom: “Troublesome people are troubled people.”
Usually, my mother explained, they’re mean because someone has been mean to them. They’re confused and operating on bad information.
And while mean people may not be pleasant, if we got to know them, we might learn that all they need is some kindness and recognition. Their meanness is their way of trying to protect themselves; it’s a wall they put up to keep others away so they won’t be hurt again.
Sometimes, when you get beyond that wall, you can find that you’ve made a new friend.
That was a powerful lesson. It let me put the emphasis on the other person’s upset instead of blindly reacting to his insult. It helped me learn empathy and to grasp that I could choose my own emotional response. It put me in control.
In time, I learned how caring about the other person’s pain could be transformative for both of us. It let me move away from defensiveness into non-judgment and openness. It disarmed the other person by showing him that I saw him, not as a threatening monster, but as a fellow human being.
I like the balance of strength and sensitivity in those rules. It was good to think about them again and to be glad for the guidance they gave me. I hope they’re still alive and well today and that moms and dads everywhere are passing them on. It would make for a far saner world.
Wishing you a week of kindness, given and received.
Warmly,
Susan
Image by Nathan Osman from Pixabay