Candor

I have never learned the fine art of candor.  I think when I was young I had it briefly. Children come by it naturally.  Yesterday I subbed in the first grade and was bathed in it all day. One boy told me I smelled good, not great, but better than their regular teacher.  When I took a boy aside after he had hit another boy he explained that he hits other kids because he was bullied by his older brother at home and hitting at school makes him feel better.  Another boy began to cry after lunch. He explained that he wanted to go home. I told him there was only one hour left of the day. I thought this would be welcome news to him but he only cried harder.  He said he wanted to go home NOW! Oh, yes, in one hour is not now when you are feeling so poorly that you have descended into a full cry. Duh.

Part of my job as a teacher is to help kids regulate their emotions. To explain that we don’t talk about how other people smell, that we don’t hit, and that we must find a way to keep ourselves together until the end of the day.  I tried to do this work with the boy who hit another child. But all I managed to get out was that I was also bullied by my older brother and while I understood how he felt, I guessed that hitting at school did not really make him feel better.  I’m sure that while he probably felt heard, he did not get any real help that would prevent future hitting. I think I skipped the unbridled hitting stage, and while I can see it is horrifying for the victim, there is something kind of methodically therapeutic for the bullied little sibling.

When I was young I was what was called precocious. I had a lot of feelings and I knew what they were,  but I also did not want to get in trouble. I watched and listened to social interactions around me. I saw other kids talk back, have tantrums, yell, hit, and rebel.  They always got in trouble with adults. I did not want to get in trouble. But I had big emotions that if revealed, would inevitably get me into trouble. I had no idea how to maneuver this minefield. So I just faked it.  I internalized my emotions. I got lost in books, in writing, in my own interior world. I hid. I shrank back, sensing my true thoughts and feelings were too big for the occasions and relationships in my life. I practiced very little at developing my skills around communicating with frankness. The work of not getting into trouble was so consuming that I actually became, to some extent, disconnected from those emotions.  

When I look around me now, I see glimpses of openness in others.  To be honest, I find myself not always appreciating the outspoken people in my social circles.  There are those who have learned to brandish their directness like a weapon, taking anyone out who dares challenge them.  While I admire people like this from afar, I steer clear of them in real life. And then there are those who speak their truth and it shines like a light instead of cutting like a sword.  That is what I want for myself. Can one learn this in adulthood? I hope so.