That’s him—the annoying kid

This morning, I went to drop my son off at daycare, just as I have every day since early September. As usual, my little boy was excited and eager to get back to his beloved classroom, teacher, and classmates.

Every day, I leave the daycare with a smile on my face knowing that my son will have a wonderful time.

But today was different. This time, I left fighting back tears.
Not because my son clung to my legs for a full five minutes and refused to let me leave. Not because I was going to miss him so much. 

Today, I left in tears because a child nearby told his mom that my son was really annoying. My son heard every word. In an instant, his eyes were also welling up.

Naturally, I’ve known my son since the day he was born and could argue that I know him better than anyone. I’m aware that he’s not a particularly calm or obedient child. I know that he can be a troublemaker and that he takes up a lot of space in a group. I know that he’s loud, that he has more energy than all the other kids combined, and that he can’t always rein it in when he needs to. I also know that the little boy who so casually criticized my son didn’t mean any harm and had no idea that his words would have such an impact.

But I still found myself blinking back tears.
First, because I could see how hurt my son was to be labelled “annoying.” Because I could see how upset he was that he couldn’t control himself so much of the time. Because I’ve seen his disappointment at not getting a green sticker in his agenda like everyone else after shouting too loud or being disruptive during quiet time. Because I saw all of his efforts destroyed by a few simple words, words that put him in a box and make him believe he’ll never be anything but the kid that’s “so annoying.” And finally, because I saw all the hard work we’ve put in get erased by a label that my son can’t seem to shake.

My tears also stemmed from disappointment.
I was discouraged to see the boy’s mother remain passive, as if his words meant nothing. To see her nod, as if her son had merely stated a fact. To see her ignore a valuable opportunity to teach him that no one should be pigeonholed and that every child deserves to be accepted as they are, with all their strengths and especially all their flaws.

At my house, I have zero tolerance for those kinds of comments.
If I happen to hear one, I use it as an opportunity to explain to my kids that no single trait defines anyone and, most importantly, that every child faces personal challenges. I always point out some of the qualities of the child they think is too this or too that, and I mention how hard they probably try to “be like everyone else.”

I want my kids to understand that nobody—not even them—is perfect, and that tolerance and acceptance are fundamental social values. Those same values will not only make them better people, but also help make the world a better place.