Retreat into the Familiar

      My oldest daughter, her nickname is Bean, turned ten years old at the beginning of summer and has entered the last year of elementary school this fall. Change has been like a roller coaster ride for her and yesterday I think she almost fell off. Retreated back into the safe and warm folds of childhood.
    
       Already she has started to give up toys, now her dolls wait in carefully placed poses on her nightstand or in the dollhouse, rarely played with but still enjoyed nevertheless. Her preparations for school take a whole lot more time, with the shoes absolutely having to match the outfit, the hair style matching the shirt and the backpack an accessory that just happens to carry her homework. Nails are painted every weekend and this summer she got her ears pierced. Whew, I can't keep up, I'm not sure how she does it. Maybe that's why she gets a bit crabby sometimes, torn between still wanting to be cuddled and treated like a child and wanting to find the path that will lead to her adulthood. I didn't realize it started quite so young but all journeys do have a beginning and watching her fumble towards the right path makes me proud of her for the wonderful job she's doing and the intense need to cry because she'll never be my small child again.
       I didn't remember how much change I went through in fifth grade until Bean came home yesterday completely upset and in a temper. That girl is tough, and a lot like Wolverine. The temper flares when pain is experienced. Tears are rarely seen, which is not like me at all. So she comes home quite mad at this girl at school.
      "We were having lunch together and talking just like every day since school started. Oh, she's such..." She breaks off, controlling her temper, especially since name calling isn't allowed in our household.
        "What happened?" I asked, quite concerned because she seemed so vulnerable and not like the sassy fifth grader I have been sending to school the last two weeks, all confident and sure of herself.
        "We were talking and then suddenly, just suddenly Mom. She asks me 'why do you sit with us?" She frowns and obviously this question has confused her for the abruptness of how it had been asked. "I said it was because I liked to." She takes a deep breath, her fists clenched, her face lined with anger but it's the hurt in her green gold eyes that has me wanting to take her in a big hug.
        "Then what happened?" I asked quietly.
         "She said I was annoying. That everything I said was annoying. That I was just annoying and I wasn't welcomed to sit with them anymore. And she was so rude about it. Just snotty and rude. I wanted to punch her."  Angry. Hurt. And totally confused how one second they could be getting along and then suddenly thrown into the lion's den.
         I asked her what happened then. Apparently the conversation had been interrupted before Bean had a chance to respond. The lunch room was put into quiet mode and under the threat of losing recess they dared not speak. But later at recess the girl was not nice to Bean either and I must have taught my daughter something because she responded firmly but didn't resort to name calling or rudeness. And I know she would have been angry and hurt.
        I went through the usual cliches of how some people just aren't nice, there might be reasons, such as a terrible home life, or they're having a bad day but we still didn't have to spend time with them and the best thing to do was avoid rude people like that. Don't let her be a bully but we don't have to allow them a chance to ruin our day. I reassured her that she had plenty of other friends, ones that weren't suddenly rude and hurtful and she shouldn't let this girl bother her.
       But I know it hurts. I remember fifth grade and the day my best friend from fourth grade stood up and told everyone it was her last day because her parents were getting a divorce and she was moving. I was shocked because she hadn't told me. The summer before she had decided to play with someone else and had told me we weren't best friends anymore. I had been horribly hurt and had hoped that once the school year started we would be friends again. Apparently not.
      So I knew Bean was hurting, it's hard to learn lessons on how to deal with people. How to deal with ourselves. So I did the only other thing I knew how to do to make it better. I gathered her into a huge bear hug and held her close for a minute, telling her that no matter what she was My Bean and would always have a family that loved her.
      I don't know how much it helped except she wasn't as angry but for the rest of the afternoon she pulled out my childhood collection of My Little Ponies and started playing with her sister and her nieces. And then she picked a few of her favorites and took them to the corner of the room and played by herself. Making them talk and play. The sounds of pretend were warmly familiar but just a bit solemn because I knew she was finding comfort with a tactical retreat back into childhood.
     And sometimes don't we all have to make tactical retreats from life and the world?