Meredith’s Musings | Crowd Interactions

article by MEREDITH MCKINNIE

I once wrote about my fears for my children as they socially interact without me, how I winced on the playground, suppressing the impact to protect them from peer disappointment. Notably, I do not have this instinct with physical play, as I’m the last to think they shouldn’t climb or jump for fear of broken bones. Husband often wants to deny them the scrapes and bruises they need to learn body and spatial awareness – I don’t helicopter in that way. I jump in at the last possible moment when my involvement is unavoidable. Some may see it as lazy; I see it as building strong, resilient children (fingers crossed). But the childhood social interactions do intrigue me, as I remember them distinctly. I’m adept at social interaction, and I worry that my kids might not sharpen those skills in this friction-less life we’ve created for our children.

For the last few years, their social interactions were confined to school, where I was not present, or as a team when they were together in public with me. Now 8 and 6, they are separating so to speak, receiving individual birthday invitations and excited about their solo excursions. In the last two weeks, I’ve taken both girls to separate birthday parties, and since parents are required to just sit back and watch at such events, I noticed a keen difference between my two girls, and I’m fascinated.

My oldest daughter Wilder, upon entering the birthday party at a gymnastics gym, immediately searched intently for the crowd, squeezing her way to the front and asserting her voice as if she’d been there all along. If the crowd moved, she moved, and swiftly as if it was her idea. She’s a follower in that way, never wanting to be left out. She doesn’t suppress her booming voice though, insisting on her way and outranking everyone in volume. She will shout you down one-on-one, but in a group setting her instinct is to go with the flow. She longs to be included, and should she be forgotten, she wounds easily. I watched her taking turns on the gym equipment, advancing to the next area as the group did. She inserts herself, but refuses to be left behind.

A week later, I took Little Sis Fable to her own birthday party, this time at an art studio. We arrived three minutes after starting time, and many of the children were already convening at tables and setting up art supplies. I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught, as every child rushed to Fable with excitement, screaming her name and jumping for joy at her mere presence. Fable, on the other hand, hardly noticed, giving half-hearted hugs and eyeing the wooden craft wall for her first object to paint. The crowd followed her, trading in their butterflies and emoji faces for the same birdhouse Fable selected. They mirrored her actions, jockeyed for a seat next to her, and chose the same shades of pink and blue for their birdhouses. The crowd followed Fable, and Fable couldn’t have cared less. She methodically painted her birdhouse as intently as she builds her Legos at home, slowly, always on Fable time.

Husband and I have a funny saying about Fable that is not suitable for this publication, but summarily, Fable doesn’t care. She marches to her own beat, and even when there is no beat. She doesn’t need to be liked, and though she is, she hardly notices. She doesn’t crave attention or affection. Her stasis is self-control, emotionally regulated, calm in the chaos. Her language is humor, and if you get a smile, it’s because you noticed and acknowledged her playfulness. You have to earn her love; she makes you work for it.

Social dynamics in childhood are constantly in flux, and certain temperaments thrive in different stages. I do recognize myself in Wilder’s actions, namely the people-pleasing that inevitably results in fits of feminine rage (I’m working on this, still). I’ve always heard how radically different siblings can be, even experienced it myself, but observing from this vantage point is thrilling and intimidating. My instinct is to try and suppress in my girls the behaviors and attitudes I’d take back, but without those mistakes, I wouldn’t be me. For now, I will continue to observe with intentional restraint, letting their social interactions develop organically. They’re becoming who they’re meant to be, just as I did, and still am.