It could have been much worse. It could have been a really bad word. Or gesture. It was really bad. But not the worst.
Logan asked me what a wedgie was today.
He came up to me after sports challenge, an after-school-gym-class, and said that so-and-so boy gave anther so-and-so boy a wedgie and he got in huge trouble.
Logan was terribly upset about the incident although he didn’t actually witness it. He heard from the one boy who heard from the other that it happened and then saw the teacher send the culprit directly to the office.
“Mom, what’s a wedgie?” He asked me as we walked out to the car with Eli and Chris.
What’s a wedgie, anyway?
I told him I would explain it later, after we got home. All the while thinking, “Oh boy, sad day to have to explain what a wedgie is.”
And certainly not just the “normal” sneak of one’s undies up into a certain spot causing much discomfort. This was an intentional, bully-driven, act of meanness.
We arrived home and my boys began to play and play some more and I thought it unnecessary to go interrupt their time together by offering an explanation for such an unpleasing thing.
Then at dinner, Logan reminded me that I said I would tell him what a wedgie was and would I please go ahead and do so. I looked over at Chris as if to detect some kind of flashing script of how I should proceed. I would just honestly tell him, but somehow I felt like I needed to seek more eloquence. But then I started to get a juvenile grin on my face and looked away. Embarrassed by the muscle movement on my face, I gave Chris another quick look for reinforcement.
Please note….I did not think it was funny. Maybe it was my disbelief of the situation I was in, that I couldn’t believe the day had arrived that I was asked to define WEDGIE. Let’s hope I have better control of my facial expressions when the birds and the bees fly in…
As I tried to pull it together, realizing the sure horribleness of the situation that happened to Logan’s classmate and friend, I began to form some words, but by then Chris has taken the reigns and described it with the eloquence that I was missing.
We discussed how mean it is to give someone a wedgie was and that doing it to someone else is never, ever ok. Logan was sad and told us that his friend, the victim, said it hurt really, really bad. That is when this rage set in…the rage that I only ever learned about the day motherhood became my reality.
Chris and Logan and I very peacefully talked about feelings that he may have had about it and what to do if it ever happened to him or another friend of his. Eli even offered some help about how naughty children in his classroom are taught to behave nicer. We talked about kids who the boys know who are slowly moving from the dark side to the light side. Their words, by the way.
Meanwhile, during all of this very constructive conversation, behind my boiling blood and bitten tongue, I thought to myself as if I were advising him, “Son, if anyone ever does that to you, you just go right ahead and punch their face and then I will come and kick them in the shin! That’ll teach ’em to mess with my children again!”
Ahem…
You see, this is some kind of rage, right?
I’m better now. It’s remarkable how much easier it is to want to handle something like that with…um….well, violence.
I’m not a violent person. You know I’m not. But I can’t promise that I won’t at least shake my fist pretty heartily at some young trouble maker if he should ever threaten my boys.
At least I kept it all to myself! I kept a peaceful demeanor this whole time and I do feel like it was a very, very valuable lesson and discussion at the table tonight.
Dear Mean Children at Freedom Elementary,
Don’t ever cross my children or you’ll get it in the shins!
Your’s truly,
Their Mom
The End.
Just had to note that our 2 1/2 year old, who is just entering the world of “big girl panties” tells us on a regular basis she in fact has a wedgie, and then fixes the situation or asks us for help to fix the situation. Point being—Self inflicted wedgies are much more acceptable than the bully induced wedgie. 🙂