It was my birthday over the weekend. It usually completely overshadow by the fact that my oldest warrior princess was born the day before my birthday and most of my energy is channeled straight into presents, party and cake for her. Usually I wake up on my birthday and think "Oh yeah, it's my birthday!"
So I hadn't really thought much about it. But I know that my lovely man is especially good at buying me gifts. You see, without meaning to gloat, he listens to me. I am incredibly blessed to be in love with a man who actually pays attention when I'm rambling on about things that he doesn't have much interest in or knowledge about.
If you know me, it takes a lot to render me speechless, I can talk the hind leg of a donkey. But he managed that just with one birthday present.
About a year ago I told him about a book I had borrowed from a lovely artist friend of mine. It is an incredible book. It's called The Art of Colour by Johannes Itten and it is the most beautifully captivating book about physics I have ever laid eyes on. It's essentially poetic, which appeals massively to my love of words, and it explains so much about the way we experience colour. My friend had acquired this book quite a few years ago and it was an expensive book then. It's also now out of print. Even a Kindle version of the book is about £85, which for an e-book just seems a little ridiculous.
But my crazy, lovely, incredible man listened. He heard my passion and he remembered.
And he found me a second hand copy of that book that I love so much. It's sitting carefully in my bookshelf, away from my girls mucky fingers, loved and cherished. You see, while I love this book and it's incredibly useful with all kinds of knowledge contained in it's pages, it's not just the book itself that rendered me speechless.
It was the thought behind it. I have found so much healing in being heard, realising that he listens to me...even when I'm rambling about random stuff and especially when all I'm doing is processing the thoughts in my head out loud. It's not what most of my experience has taught me. His love and thoughtfulness left completely speechless on my birthday and it touched my heart so very deeply.
I'm resolving to try to do that more, to listen deeply, to try and hear the words unsaid by those around me. To convey the sense of "I hear you, I hear your heart" even when some of those words go unspoken. I have a lot to learn, but I see a wonderful example of what can be achieved when I look at my lovely man.
I had a discussion with a fellow blogging friend of mine a while ago in which we observed that I have a tendency to write when I'm wound up.
Well, sorry folks...today is no exception.
I won't go into too much detail because, for a start I don't have all of them and secondly, I want to protect my daughter.
But suffice to say that today my seven year old daughter learned first hand what it's like to be harassed for nothing more than her existence. No, not by her peers, if they were her peers she probably would have stood up for herself with all her usual feistiness.
No, these were teenagers boys.
Did I mention that she is seven?
They used words that she didn't understand. She couldn't repeat it to me because she is innocent enough not to comprehend what was said. But she knew that it hurt, that she felt intimidated and unsafe...and that they deliberately targeted her.
It's hard to explain the mix of emotions I felt to see her so upset.
Rage was pretty foremost. Someone scared my beautiful strong girl.
Helplessness followed pretty quickly...I wondered how on earth I could get a handle on this without completely overreacting. I became very conscious that I wanted to protect her. Of course, surely that's every mother's instinct. But what I wasn't prepared for was the anger I felt when I found myself contemplating the measures necessary to keep her away from this scenario again. Making immediate changes to her routine seemed a pretty quick solution.
Then I realised...I'm validating her fear.
I'm teaching her it is her responsibility to change herself in this situation...and worse, I'm not dealing with their behaviour, not making them accountable for what I consider to be appalling behaviour on the streets of my town in broad daylight!
This is not her fault.
So I'm going to teach my beautiful girl that these voices don't matter. That she can hold her head up high and sail on past without a care because she is safe in the knowledge that she is loved. My only hope is that together she and I can find in her inner strength that will block out the voices.
To the parents of those boys, I hope that when you find out about this, and I fully intend that you will, I hope your immediate reaction is horror that your child would do such a thing and that it sets off a chain of events that will lead them to grow into intelligent, empathetic, young men.
That is my sincerest hope.
