No bien meen
A phrase we should all live by
A first grade drawing by my son (Credit: BAhern)
One day in first grade, my son, Balen, came home with some artwork captioned with the phrase, “no bien meen.” He didn’t have much of a story for why he chose to pay homage to such a phrase on this day, but I liked the sentiment. As a six going on 7-year-old boy with ADHD, anxiety, and sensory processing challenges, we were…shall we say…already close with the principal, vice-principal, social worker, and counselors. Mostly, he got in trouble for being unable to sit still, not staying in his “own space,” being loud, or other disruptive behavior. Sitting quietly and listening at a desk for extended periods of time was like trying to shove a circle into a square hole.
Some of you may be thinking, “Oh, I know what she’s talking about! I have one of these boys!” But some of you may simply be horrified by the idea of ever interacting with the principal for disciplinary reasons. You may be annoyed by these boys as you only have daughters. Or only had sisters. I get it. I only had a sister. I hated boys like that in elementary school. I also assumed it was the parent’s fault until I had one of my own. Even graduating from arguably the best high school in the country, having an undergraduate and graduate degree from Stanford University, having a family full of doctors, and following every pediatric health and behavioral guideline out there couldn’t prevent me from having one of those boys.
But I digress. Let’s get back to the story.
Despite these challenges, teachers usually really loved Balen, as he was smart, creative, and incredibly endearing. They would come out of their way to give him a hug years after he was in their classes; they seemed to remember a person they really loved rather than a kid who made them want to tear their hair out and retire (yes, we heard that feedback at one parent-teacher conference). But I think what has carried him through, what seems to remain with those who teach/coach/guide/parent him, is that he is a kind soul. Not gentle. Not quiet. Not patient. But kind.
My son is starting at a new middle school in a new town this week, and he is nervous. It’s hard to believe, because he’s a big 12-year-old now, almost 13, towering over most of his classmates and thickening like a tree that is bracing itself to go skyward. Most of the time, I feel like I have an ogre around the house. He’s loud. He’s messy. He’s gross. Farting and burping are a language. His hands are always a sickly shade of gray until I beg him to wash them. He eats dinner and seconds, and then he needs snack. In fact, meals are hard to distinguish, and we seem to be on one long train of eating from waking to passing out. My feet ache from being stepped on constantly, like he has no idea where his appendages are in space.
But sometimes, I’m reminded that he’s still a little guy inside. It’s often at bedtime when the fortifications fall, and I see how scared and stressed he is. The ogre worries about what he will do if he can’t find his next class…how he will change into his PE uniform without being naked in front of everyone…what if he can’t remember his bike lock combo…or his PE lock combo…and when he will make a friend at his new school.
Sending him off that first morning was harder for me than when I left him in his Kindergarten class. Somehow, I knew he would be safe there. But middle school? I felt like I was sending him into the jungle. There were so many things I wanted to help him navigate but couldn’t. I ended up giving him his own advice. “No bein meen.” I told him everything else could be fixed…not finding the right classroom, wearing the wrong thing, choosing the wrong elective, missing a bell, getting a wrong answer, or even a bad grade. As we have always done, we would navigate his behavior challenges with teachers and administration. I told him I would help him through these challenges, as long as he remained a kind person. Being mean is where the real damage happens. The stuff that’s hard to fix. I told him to just be kind, even if it had to be masked in some sort of teenage boy coolness.
Imagine if we all started new experiences, jobs, trips, groups, organizations, negotiations, alliances, and pacts under this golden rule.
No being mean.
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