When I was almost ready to have my daughter, a special test showed that she stopped growing inside me a few weeks before she was supposed to. So, I had to go to the hospital right away to help her come into the world. She was small, only 4 pounds and 12 ounces. After spending 18 days in a special part of the hospital for little babies, we finally brought her home.
Now, five years later, my daughter Eisley, who we like to call “Little Bird,” is healthy and active. But she’s still very small for her age. She wears clothes for 3-year-olds in most things, and even some clothes for 18-month-olds still fit her.
She’s so small that I had to keep her car seat facing backward until she started kindergarten. When she broke her leg earlier this summer, there were no crutches or scooters small enough for her. I even worry about her taking the school bus because she’s so tiny. And when I took her to gymnastics class, the coach questioned her age because of her size.
But what I want to talk about in this article isn’t really about her size. I just mentioned it so you understand how small she is. What happened recently is much more important.
Last week, a boy at school hit my daughter in the face. I have pictures, but I won’t share them because I don’t want to embarrass anyone or show my little girl’s black eye to everyone on the internet.
The punch was hard enough to make her eye swell up, bruise, and puff up the next day. I thought about using makeup to hide it, but I didn’t want to teach her that she should hide when someone hurts her.
What really worried me is that she didn’t tell me the whole story. First, she said she couldn’t remember how she got hurt. Then, she said she fell on the playground. But her eye kept getting worse, and she still wouldn’t tell me the truth. She became sad and quiet, not acting like herself. At dinner, my dad noticed her eye and asked her what happened. Thankfully, she told him the truth.
But what scared me is that she said she didn’t cry when it happened because she wanted to be strong. She also said she didn’t tell anyone because she wanted to be nice.
I don’t understand what we’re teaching our girls. I left my daughter’s father when she was a baby because I didn’t want her to grow up thinking that women should hide and accept abuse. So, how did she still learn this lesson? Where did she learn it?
I don’t just want to ask these questions; I want answers. Even though she’s only five years old, I expect better from her. My boys would never have reacted this way, no matter their age. Somehow, somewhere, my little girl learned that she needs to be “nice” even if it means hurting herself. I won’t accept that.
That’s what I told her teacher when we talked about it. I didn’t want to get the boy in trouble; I wanted to make sure her teacher would help me teach my daughter to speak up and not protect people who hurt her, or anyone else.
I’m lucky that her school took this seriously. But I hear about schools that don’t handle these situations well. They say kids sometimes hurt each other, boys can be rough, or children are mean. I don’t accept that. I won’t accept boys or girls hitting each other, whether they’re five or fifteen. None of this is okay, especially when a young girl is afraid to tell about being hit because she wants to be “nice.”
We can do better for our girls and all our children. Let’s not teach our girls that being nice is more important than standing up for themselves.
So, to the parents of the boy who hit my daughter, I don’t know why your son did it, but I forgive him. I’m sorry if he’s having a hard time or is confused about how to treat people. I forgive him, and I forgive you. But I believe we can all do better.
