Shoes and Empathy
Kind of a play on words there. Tea and sympathy, shoes and empathy.
I've always said, if I don't teach my children any other trait, I want them to learn empathy. I want them to consider--truly consider--what it's like to wear the shoes of another. To walk their path, to live their life, to feel their pain.
Earlier this week ... wait. Back up. Earlier this year, my daughter told me about a young lady who'd begun to eat lunch with her and her friends. There was a specific reason this newcomer joined them, but none of the other girls really liked her. They all find her, in a word, annoying. I mean, really, really annoying.
Now we're back to earlier this week. My daughter, who is normally very compassionate, told me about one of her friends telling this young lady, in essence, "I have two weeks of school left, and I don't want to spend it with you. Go eat somewhere else." Now if someone had said that to me at that age, I'd have popped off with something like, "Too bad. I like this table." But this young lady responded with something along the lines of, "It's okay. Everybody hates me."
It's okay. Everybody hates me.
Have you ever heard a more heart-breaking statement? From anyone, much less a 13-year old?
Coco and I talked about this at length. The way I see it, one of two things is happening here.
First, either the girl is sensitive enough to realize people don't like her, but not socially skilled enough to understand why. Or second, she's sharp enough to understand why, but doesn't care, and her statement is more a play for sympathy than anything else.
sigh
My daughter is fourteen years old. I don't control her every action. But if I could control this situation, she'd have spoken up when the first girl told the other one to go away. Or she'd have gone to the annoying one and said, "Let's talk about this. You seem to believe everyone hates you. Why do you think that is?" And proceed from there. But I can't force that (I suppose I could, but it wouldn't be genuine).
Counting today, these young ladies have 4 1/2 days of school left. Four lunch periods. Four opportunities to make a difference. I'm praying one of them will step up.
I'm hoping I'll have a followup to this blog.
I've always said, if I don't teach my children any other trait, I want them to learn empathy. I want them to consider--truly consider--what it's like to wear the shoes of another. To walk their path, to live their life, to feel their pain.
Earlier this week ... wait. Back up. Earlier this year, my daughter told me about a young lady who'd begun to eat lunch with her and her friends. There was a specific reason this newcomer joined them, but none of the other girls really liked her. They all find her, in a word, annoying. I mean, really, really annoying.
Now we're back to earlier this week. My daughter, who is normally very compassionate, told me about one of her friends telling this young lady, in essence, "I have two weeks of school left, and I don't want to spend it with you. Go eat somewhere else." Now if someone had said that to me at that age, I'd have popped off with something like, "Too bad. I like this table." But this young lady responded with something along the lines of, "It's okay. Everybody hates me."
It's okay. Everybody hates me.
Have you ever heard a more heart-breaking statement? From anyone, much less a 13-year old?
Coco and I talked about this at length. The way I see it, one of two things is happening here.
First, either the girl is sensitive enough to realize people don't like her, but not socially skilled enough to understand why. Or second, she's sharp enough to understand why, but doesn't care, and her statement is more a play for sympathy than anything else.
sigh
My daughter is fourteen years old. I don't control her every action. But if I could control this situation, she'd have spoken up when the first girl told the other one to go away. Or she'd have gone to the annoying one and said, "Let's talk about this. You seem to believe everyone hates you. Why do you think that is?" And proceed from there. But I can't force that (I suppose I could, but it wouldn't be genuine).
Counting today, these young ladies have 4 1/2 days of school left. Four lunch periods. Four opportunities to make a difference. I'm praying one of them will step up.
I'm hoping I'll have a followup to this blog.
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