Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, butwrist guards on! I began to feel good about my
names will never hurt me."decision, until both of them came towards me
Is that so? I would beg to differ and if you askwith their heads hanging low. The older one was
my seventh grader, he would declare that thecrying and pulling his helmet and skates off,
pain he felt from being laughed at, was nobefore I could say a word.
different than the pain he'd felt when he'd fallen atWhat happened? I asked.
the skate park.They're making fun of me. I'm doing the best I
I had designed a stress-free day with my boys:can. I can't help it if I fall...I'm just starting out. Like
We were going to take advantage of thethey never fell when they were just learning????!
beautiful fall day, with our brand new roller bladesMy heart went out to him as I remembered that
and head to the skate park. After a twentypain so clearly. This was a child who would never
minute argument about wearing protective gear,dream of saying a mean word to someone who
we were on our way, though everyone continuedwas trying their best. He was raised with the
muttering under their breath.constant reminder of: Choose your words
Why do we need knee pads? These wrist guardscarefully. It matters what you say and how you
aren't comfortable. Nobody wears elbow pads...say it. It all matters.
It was maddening, to say the least. I mean, I wasI gave him an empathetic glance, wishing I could
given the job of "mom" because someone,reprimand those kids. But knew I couldn't. I
somewhere, believed that I was capable ofwanted to give him a hug that protected him
making sure my children were kept safe. Thatfrom the pain of being in seventh grade. But
was the most important part of this job, wasn'tknew I couldn't. I wanted him to wear protective
it? I was willing to pick and choose my argumentsgear to keep him safe, but knew I couldn't. So I
carefully, but I had seen this one too many timesdid the only thing I could. I put my arms around
before. I pleaded with them that the gear wouldhim, offered some solutions and waited for him to
keep us from having to leave the park in tears. Ichoose.
tried to remind them of the times we'd leftI just want to go home, he said.
bandaged, bruised and crying.I knew that those children were his friends and
"I draw the line this time," I said firmly. "I wantdidn't really want to hurt him. I knew they only
this to be fun and am not leaving here with youlaughed, because someone had once laughed at
guys crying again...wear the pads."them too. Yet it was a reminder for all of us that
As they watched the other twenty teenagersday to be conscious of what we say to other
gliding up and down the ramps, some withpeople and how they might be affected by our
helmets, some without and none with any otherwords. It was also a reminder for me that as
protective gear, I could almost hear their littlemuch as I want to protect my children,
heads screaming: no one else is wearing this stuff!sometimes you just have to fall down...to learn
I didn't care. It wasn't my job to protect thehow to get back up.
community, just my own children.My heart ached for him as he gathered his wrist
Begrudgingly they began and I watched themguards, helmet and $150 skates he had just
gracefully skate up and down several times,bought. My heart ached as I watched his younger
stopping often to talk to their friends about theirbrother feel his pain as well. And all I could think
new skates. They fell several times and I smiled,was: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but
wanting to say: see, good thing you had thosenames can hurt as well.