The Aftermath When My 4-Year-Old First Called Daddy Names
Revisiting a lesson from wielding the weapon of language
Sticks and stones can break your bones — but words are mightier than the sword.
Wails from beyond the walls drew near as I looked up from my book to see my daughter run in, her face flushed from crying. Diving into bed beside me, she meekly sobs,
I said something mean to Daddy!
She understands how it feels to be a victim of something mean as just a week prior, the words “go away” sent her into another room to sulk in her own muffled cries. Here we are again — but the tables have turned.
Tears wet the strands of hair framing her face. Just moments ago, the two of them had been reading together; this incident must have cut story time short.
I pat her and say that it is okay. I’m here. I’m listening. The sobs became relentless after I asked her what happened. Oops. Now is the time to try a different way to calm a child in the throes of a meltdown.
Think Zen. Take a deep breath and count to five.
1…
2…
3…
4…
5…
“Do you feel better now?”
She nods with a sigh.
“What did you say to Daddy?”
“If I tell you, you’ll get mad at me…”
The image of my angry face in her head scared her to hiccups. Her wails started up again like a siren.
I’m in cuddle mode, with a warm mama bear presence, I soothe her most reassuringly; I will never get mad at her if she ever has something important to say. I pinky swore. She can tell me anything.
It took a lot more coaxing with some back and forth of more cries and resistance. I had never seen her so upset over something she’d done, not even after she goes to toddler war with her little brother. More patting and breathwork. Finally, she confesses:
Stupid.
“How do you think Daddy felt when you said that?”
“I hurt his feelings…”
I agreed, knowing my husband did not take it to heart. But I could think of instances where words spoken with malice have cut like a knife in the past.
“And how did you feel after you called Daddy names?”
“Bad…”
There it was: her first valuable life lesson from social interaction. I didn’t need to lecture or reprimand her. It took one word for her to feel the weight of her insults. The load of guilt from delivering them can hurt just the same.
Sticks and stones can break your bones — but words are mightier than the sword.
My sweet 4-year-old brought me back to the past when I once had a mean streak, but unlike her, it wouldn’t be until I was eleven before I learned the consequences of my actions.
Back in the 6th Grade
Not to justify my shitty behaviour, but I had numerous issues going on. I lacked guidance, was left to fend for myself, and any sort of developing a moral compass was through trial and error, with no role model at home in sight — what better way to learn than from mistakes.
There was one girl I was especially unkind to in the sixth grade, for no reason whatsoever, other than that she seemed an easy target. I made fun of her name and hair, which was poofy and curly like a clown, and she had a laugh that sounded as if a duck was quacking. I openly teased her, and every time she would laugh it off. But everyone has a breaking point.
My absolute favourite teacher, one who I respected and admired, came to tell me one day that she left the classroom crying because of me. As a class, we all sat on the floor to watch a video on a small television screen overhead where I was behind her and remarked that her hair blocked my view.
It took one disappointed look from my teacher for me to feel gutted. So this is what it feels like to be rebuked and disciplined. It was what I was missing.
Hurt people hurt people
“Hurt people hurt others because they themselves have been hurt. And each one of us has been hurt to one degree or another. As that damage causes us to become defensive and self-protective, we may lash out at others. Hurting becomes a vicious cycle.” — Sandra D. Wilson
Empathy develops from self-awareness
That night I cried myself to sleep, not only because I had let my teacher down, but because I realized I had been hurting that girl all along, through all her deflected laughter. It hurt because she didn’t deserve it, like how I never deserved whatever had happened to me. I’ve been in her shoes. Bullies cry too, for many reasons, but the biggest one may be a cry for attention.
I couldn’t understand why I acted the way I did at the time, but I knew then how to change my ways — not to be the mean girl. It was never my intention, and it only made me feel worse about myself. The choice was in my hands to break the cycle.
My Pinky Swear
As my kids grow up, they will learn that the world can be a cruel place, but they play a part in it. Through their words and actions, they wield power to either break someone down or build them up, to spread love or hate.
When I was a child, I kept my feelings bottled up because I had no one to have heart-to-heart conversations with. No way will I let my children go down that spiral of doom and gloom.
From my daughter crying into my arms, she learns how important it is to trust someone to open up; to have a person to confide in. I told her how proud I was of her for admitting her faults because it must have been difficult. Then she calmly drifted to sleep with a clear conscience.
Even if she makes major mistakes in the future that leave her fearful of confessing, I hope she’ll find that she is never alone. I will always be a safe place. While I cannot shield her from all trials and tribulations, I can promise I won’t get angry at her for being honest, for being vulnerable. Those are not signs of weaknesses but strength and humility.
I can’t promise the weight of the world won’t be too heavy sometimes — but I can guarantee I will always be there to lift her when she falls.