Runway Model?
I am barely five-foot four. There is nothing in my closet with a designer label (unless Osprey and Merrill count). I firmly believe my own flesh-and-blood heels belong no higher than a couple centimeters off the ground. So I doubt anyone would mistake me for one of the genetic enigmas we call “runway models.”
But the other day, something happened that could change that.
Our local gymnastics center has an attached annex, with a hallway stretching the length of it. Throngs of children waiting to defy gravity on bars and beams tear thunderously up and down this stretch of real estate playing “red light, green light.” It is a “runway” if you will, at both decibel and activity level. Combine this wide-open space with kids and their pent-up wiggles from a long day at school, and it’s only a matter of time before someone finds a way to get hurt. And someone did.
At the hands of my son.
Great.
First I saw the upset little girl, holding her left arm with her right. Then the sheepish face of my son as he slowly drug himself along the wall toward me. So I had a pretty good idea something happened between them. I talked to both the girl and my son separately and here is what I gleaned about the situation. It was a game of “girls versus boys.” (Well, one boy who happened to be my son. This was obvious as I earlier had seen my daughter egging on a gaggle of her gymnastics teammates to “get” her brother.) My son got “startled” by the soon-to-be victim. He then slammed the door between them “with a lot of force,” catching her arm and scraping it from shoulder to elbow. I looked at the injury and the skin was red, not immediately swollen, but strawberry-ied pretty good. Both kids were upset.
To both their credit, their stories corroborated. No “he said, she said” involved, even though both were defensive. Clearly this was an unintended mishap and thankfully the little gymnast was able to take part in her class that day. But here’s the glitch. How do I get my son to apologize? It would be an easier task to land a cartwheel on the high beam. He was embarrassed, angry and no way was he going to “humiliate” himself by admitting to his tearful victim he did something wrong, even though it was accidental.
As I pondered my next move, I recalled some advice in one of Roselind Wiseman’s books. The author recommended that in situations where an apology is in order and the child refuses to give one, the parent should do so on the child’s behalf, with or without their child present. So that’s what I did. I told my son I would be issuing an “I’m sorry” for him, and while not by my side, he was only a few feet away and within earshot when I did so.
The little girl needed to hear those words. My son was not yet ready to say them. My mediating the situation seemed like the best compromise to give closure. As I thought about the incident later and how it was not unlike lots of spats amongst elementary school-aged children, I realized how “I’m sorry” can sound to kids. It sounds like “I (or he or she) was wrong.” It takes time and dialogue to help our charges understand that an apology doesn’t necessarily mean fault…it can simply mean ownership of actions, like slamming a door and catching a limb along the way, or it could mean I feel bad (X) happened to you, like when a beloved pet has died. Perhaps the best way to help kids learn the many meanings of “I’m sorry” is to show them how those two little words can be powerful.
As, a friend of mine who witnessed the annex incident said so well (she is a therapist), you “model” the right behavior for them.
So there it is: I “modeled” an appropriate apology in appropriate circumstances, along the annex, or “runway.”
Therefore, I am a runway model.
My versions of “platforms.”
Merrill hiking boots and Dansko clots.
My dog has chewed on both.
