Yesterday, something happened that I've frankly dreaded since our son, a 7 1/2-year-old "only" child named Dylan, entered toddlerhood: The loud, boisterous, sometimes boundary-ignoring and ever-growing posse of neighborhood boys trooped up the driveway bearing hockey sticks, tree branches, and other stereotypical boyhood paraphernalia to see if he'd play with them. He and his mother had just returned from errands, and Dylan had gotten out of the car before she had, and in the bustle to get shopping into the house, she didn't hear if Dylan said anything in reply. She greeted the kids, they asked again, and she checked with Dylan and told them something to the effect of "No, not right now."
Why "dread"? That's where this gets complicated, so some background: I'm a writer/college professor, my wife is a visual artist and "stay-at-home mom" (the scare quotes I've already employed should be read as impatience with labels that seem to me demeaning). Both she and I can accurately be described as introverts, our artistic pursuits immensely nourishing to us, our love for our son saturating us, our friendships few but deep and rich. Dylan is extremely bright, articulate, imaginative and, with "normal" kids, especially "normal" boys, shy almost to the point of paralysis--until he's been around individuals for a little while. Even then, he hates large groups, has no interest in/great fear of (We sometimes can't sort our his reactions) group play, yet does fine in school, is well-liked by teacher and classmates, and, from what we've been able to deduce, isn't viewed as in any way unusual in his social behavior, though, again, he can't be described as "boisterous" except sometimes with us, his grandmother, the two of our friends who live close by, his one friend--that's right, at this point, he has one other kid that could qualify as friend--and his aunt.
Finally, he not only has no trouble, but eagerly approaches adults of all ages, the eighteen-year-old barijsta at the local Border's, the checkout clerk at the grocery store, various people at the food coop, perfect strangers all. He chats, waves whatever totem he's carrying (huge plastic spider, plush bat with built-in squeak, etc.) chats some more, asks them questions, waves goodbye, and so on.
We live in a neighborhood in which a number of the couples-with-kids (no one in the vicinity has an "only child") have formed a typical (I'm guessing, having, I confess, zero interest in anything beyond simple civility) network of activity: cookouts, mass trick-or-treating, impromptu games of football that bleed onto adjacent yards without regard to the wishes of the householder, barking dogs, roaring motorcycles, strutting adult male shirtlessness and bellowing, etc. etc. etc. The "headquarters" of the boy-posse is right next door, and when the prevailing temperature reaches 45 or 50, windows and doors get flung open, etc. etc. etc.
What's my question? I'm not exactly sure. Beyond working with Dylan so that he looks a kid or kids in the eye(s) and says, "No thanks" in a clear voice if/when he doesn't want to play, it mostly seems that it's OK that he doesn't play with these kids or any others he doesn't want to. Yet I worry (a great deal) that he's not getting some fundamental experience of finding his place in a group in which he's initially an alien, which is, after all, something that's necessary at various points in life. This is a deeply emotional situation for me, not only for his own welfare, but for my own, and somewhat less so, for my wife's. I worry that I just don't have any will or desire to nudge him into the scrum of boys because I so loathe the warmer-weather noise and the constant, sheer publicity of life in this otherwise pleasant neighborhood. To me, home is a sanctuary, a place to which to return to those you love and gain nourishment from, not a launching pad for public activity. The extroversion that characterizes American culture (not to get categorical here, but it's true) feels to this introvert (and pleased to be so!) much ado about less than nothing.
I guess I mostly wanted to get this off my chest, not that that will help (much) ease the anxiety sitting like a cold rock in my gut at the moment.
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Your letter and concerns are very interesting. Many parents of only children worry, sometimes obsessively, about whether their kids will be social enough and know how to get along with their peers, particularly when it comes to conflict resolution. It sounds as if Dylan gets along pretty well with his peers at school and certainly, like many only kids, has substantial comfort relating to adults. Since you describe both yourself and your wife as introverts, maybe Dylan is taking after you. Kids do inherit personalities from their parents along with their eyes and hair color. You don’t mention whether Dylan has a few close friends or not, but it is important that he have one or two , so that he can share “kid” things with them. It will help Dylan if you open up your home to some of those neighborhood boys in small ways. Dylan may feel overwhelmed by a large group of boisterous kids. Try inviting two of them and their parents over for a barbeque when the weather is pleasant. Also, you might engage in a little storytelling with Dylan. Make up a story that is similar to his experience about a boy who is invited to play but doesn’t respond politely. Talk about how the boy who is being ignored might feel. Give your characters names and place them in a different environment than your own. Clearly, you are a creative person and can come up with something imaginative. I think that Dylan will see himself in the story and understand that his own behavior was exclusionary and could hurt. Only children need to learn that their feelings aren’t the only ones that count. I think that you should make an effort to gently integrate your son into the neighborhood. After all, you are very lucky that there are plenty of other kids in the neighborhood that want to play. Dylan only has to find a few with whom he can relate. But if he senses that you don’t want other kids around, he won’t either. You are his role model. Take it from someone whose only child is grown up, enjoy every minute of the energy that kids bring with them. Once they leave home the house is all too quiet.
