Sixth Grade Girl Games, Part 1

Sixth grade girls, photo found on the internet and adapted

At one point in my career, I taught sixth graders. After the first year--during which my co-teacher and I survived by the skin of our teeth due to our group being just "one of those legendary classes" that comes along in a teacher's life--I really enjoyed it. Sixth graders, in my experience, typically cross that cusp between childhood and adolescence right at Christmas. I waved at the children as they left for Christmas each year, and welcomed back hormonal, distracted early adolescents returning to school after New Year's Day. The change is fascinating. Once I figured out what was going on, I loved it.

It was during those years that I developed the label, "sixth grade girl games." The phenomenon can actually begin at about the fourth grade, but its reality is often in full bloom by sixth grade. There are intriguing characteristics that go with the term as I use it. Let me describe them to you.

Sixth grade girls are always seeking validation, but in subtle ways. They are looking for friends, and they count those friends carefully. Do they have three? Four? Five? And are they a group? A sixth grade girl group has to stick together like glue and always be loyal. The group must spend recess together, be invited to each other's birthday celebrations, and get together outside of school. Their identity is in their dynamics and how tightly their bonds are woven between one another.

A sixth grade girl, as part of her self-validating drive, has to act a certain way. Giggles and fun are de rigueur, and everyone is seeking the next exciting moment in life for the group to live through together. Moodiness is only acceptable if the whole group gets moody together. Otherwise, the moody one is likely to be shunned by her friends in some way, and pushed to the margins of the group.

One can test the waters of moodiness in interesting ways in the sixth grade girl world. For example, Mia makes some comment that indicates, subtly or otherwise, that she's sad and trying to keep her chin up. Suddenly all the sixth grade girls are gathered around, ministering to her and trying to find out what's wrong, trying to cheer her up, telling her in some way that she's loved. Mia gets validated and may try the trick again, since it's satisfying. There are some sixth grade girls, though, who can't make this work for themselves. Something in the way that they solicit the validation actually turns the group off. I haven't quite figured out what this is, but popularity and social capital have something to do with whether a sixth grade girl's moodiness is magnetic or repellent.

In addition, the sixth grade girl has a dress code that brings her into line with her group. The specifics of that dress code depend on whatever the girls perceive to be "in" at the time, but it's clearly communicated to one another as they egg each other on.  It could be headbands, or wearing plaids, or a certain kind of shoe, or a woven bracelet of some sort. The point is to take at least small measures to visually match the group.

If a friend builds a new friendship that takes her away, the sixth grade girl feels like she's been abandoned. In response she may grieve or complain, rally her little friends to ostracize the girl who has been disloyal, or retaliate by leaving the disloyal one out of her life or her group's life. In the sixth grade girl's life, friendship groups are not allowed to be fluid.

Sixth grade girls, despite their loyalties to one another, often create drama within their groups. Abigail has some little crisis, and whoosh! The group is huddled together sighing and cooing and telling her that "isn't this awful" and "you'll be okay."  Olivia says something and Emma gets upset, and then Madison starts running back and forth between the two of them, conveying messages and either (depending on her skill) serving as the peacemaker or exacerbating the drama. Chloe likes a boy in the class, and the others gather 'round and egg her on to say something to him either personally or in writing, and interpret for her his responses.

There are probably more characteristics to describe sixth grade girl games, but this is a start. The sixth grade girl world is a world of its own. Well, maybe not solely of its own.  I'll talk more about that in the next post.

Familiarity and Change

My nephew has been attending the university where I work. It's a residential school, so he lives in the dorm, but he brings his laundry over to our house since doing wash at our house is free. I love having Nephew come over every couple of weeks. He's fun to have around, and it gives me a chance to catch up with what's happening in his life without the distractions of campus surrounding us.

Last week when I was in a budget meeting at the university, the news crossed my radar that next year the dorms are going to get rid of the coin-operated washer system and let the students use the washers and dryers for free. Hmmm, I thought. Certainly our lad will want do his wash while he's doing other things at the dorm. I felt a bit sad that we'd likely see him less. I dropped him a note on Facebook to find out what he was doing on this long weekend off, and mentioned that the dorm washers were going to be free next year.

"Free laundry doings can't keep me away," he wrote back. "Unless you'd like it to."

I responded that I'd be delighted to have him continue to come over.

"Then I'll continue on with you guys," he said, "since I know how to use your washer."

Ah! It's not us, it's the familiarity of the system! Nephew doesn't want to learn a new washer even if it's just down the hall from his dorm room!

Isn't that like many of us, though? We like novelty in experiences, but in the processes of life many of us prefer familiarity. There's something about learning a new system that takes more energy, and we'll go out of our way to avoid change. Why choose yet one more change in a life that foists it on us all the time?

While I'm happy to know that Nephew will continue do laundry at our place, it occurs to me that in some areas of life we need to choose unfamiliarity. It's hard to break free of our settled routines to do things we should do: pay more attention to people, spend more time in prayer and meditation, spend less time crawling the internet, get exercise daily, give up cooking with so much oil and salt and sugar, take a class and learn something new, and so on. Preserving familiarity is not necessarily the most healthy way to live life.

Is it time to spin off and learn a new system in some other part of my life? What might that be?

A "Ramble" about Loss, Fragility and Meaning

I find it an unusual and blessed place to be, as I approach half a century of life: I have not yet in life lost to death anyone who was very close to me. My family of origin is all still alive, and my best friends are all still thriving. The closest I have gotten to loss of a loved one, is watching colleagues having to say goodbye to someone they love.

You don’t, I imagine, ever get over the hole left in your life. A friend of mine lives with an emptiness that’s just as big as it was when his wife died over a year ago from cancer. That empty spot will be there for a long time. It leaves me thinking about loss, about the briefness of life, and about meaning--our own meaning in this world, and our meaning for one another.

I have watched a couple I know age, and as their age advances the wife gets more fearful at the thought of losing her husband. She repeatedly tells him that she doesn’t want to lose him, that he must stay alive. At times I think he solicits her pleas by the things he says to her; but then, we all say things that are intended to bring validation from others. It is hard, when you have loved your life work, to cease it and and to find activities and relationships that are as meaningful. Some can’t transition to other modes of making a difference in the world, and must navigate the classic Ericksonian crisis, that of “Integrity vs. Despair."

You hear about couples where one dies and soon the other is also gone. In some ways, such timing can be a blessing. But in my musings, I wonder if it is healthier to tend one’s own identity apart from one’s spouse, to have something of yourself left after your significant other is gone. My husband I both have our own identities apart from each other. Should one of us find ourselves bereaved, the remaining one would be terribly lonely for the other, yet would still have his or her own identity and could keep on going. But is tending one's own identity for longevity an important task? In the scope of the age of the universe and the history of this planet, is it so necessary to try to plan ahead for survival of such a loss?

I sometimes sit and ponder the significance of this thing we call life, and the fact that it really is a wisp that is here, then gone. We make so much of something so transitory, because it is all we have: Life, in this body, for a few years.

When I was a teacher I’d cross paths with a student with his parents at the mall, or see him at the water park on class party day, and think of how he suddenly looked so vulnerable. What had seemed a large kid in my classroom, someone bigger-than-life who took up my attention and time and energies, was little and unprotected against the backdrop of parents, crowds, and unfamiliar storefronts. The student’s life from this perspective was so tiny, almost ephemeral.

I see that in adults as well. The older I get, the more I see people in crowds as fragile individuals, mortal and breakable in ways we can and can’t observe. We are here only for a little time, and we make so little difference. That skin, those bones, this personality and these cares will all be gone in a short while. And in some way it makes people so much more precious and winsome, seen in that light. They should know that they are really seen, really loved, really important to someone while they are here for a few moments in time.

Thinking of endings and of loss brings the value of life into laser-sharp focus for many of us. We want a greater meaning, we want a hole to exist where we were, once we’re gone. We want someone to notice and care that we walked this earth, that we cared for others, that we were needed here. We have many ways of seeking this reassurance that we really matter, especially when we keenly sense our mortality. Understanding that, we should be more willing to grant a similar reassurance to others around us, even if their quest for it may step on our toes from time to time. No one ever need regret generosity of spirit.

Closure

On the Myers-Briggs personality inventory, the last letter in the four-letter combination describing a person’s way of relating to the world is a J or a P. To make it rather simple, the P person is a perceiver, described as open-ended with a free-flow way of relating to the world. The P is not quick to judge, and could possibly be characterized as someone who keeps their options available and flexible. The J person, on the other hand, is a judger, not in a particularly negative way, but they tend to make decisions more quickly, bring things to closure, and know what they do and don’t like. While a P is open-ended, a J is focused and narrows down the options at hand, tending to be decisive. The P is a good person to make inquiries; the J is a good person to make summaries.

I am a J. And as such, I like closure. The world has a way of not granting closure, and thus, I wish to protest, at least mildly.

What is it like when a J person lives in a P world? It’s like walking in a dark room and bumping into things, but not being able to explain them despite the bruises. For example, it’s frustrating to me when someone comes into my life and “boards my boat,” but then slips away with no explanation. Most recently that has happened in a couple of circumstances. The first is disconcerting; the second is tied to hundreds of thousands of dollars.

With regard to the first example, I should set the stage by noting that I host a young women’s Bible Study group. For the most part we—naturally—study the Bible. But this year, at the suggestion of the young women in the group, we’ve been reading Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis and discussing it in reference to our lives as Christians. The women in the group bring friends from time to time, and the friends may come once or twice, and then fade off. That doesn’t bother me.

What bothers me is when someone comes more than once or twice, and seems a part of the group, but then suddenly quits coming with no explanation. In one case it was a woman with a physical disability who simply quit coming without a word, and I have fretted, wondering if we somehow offended her. When I wrote a kindly e-mail inquiring about how it was going for her, she didn’t answer at all. And yet I see her in dialogue with others. I feel bad about that. In another case it was a young woman who came for two years, and then simply faded away without explanation. She’s friendly when she sees me, but she never offered any closure. She could have said, “I have another opportunity, and that would work better for me,” or, “This just isn’t working for my spiritual needs right now,” and I would have been fine with that. I think. But why did she leave? I hate living without closure.

Here’s the thing: I’m a big girl, generally capable of having someone tell me that my project isn’t a fit for them, and remaining on good terms with them. It just seems impolite to wander off without a word, not letting your host know that you’ve got something else that takes priority and thanking them for their efforts. Am I too sensitive about that?

In the second situation, I have been working on a university-related project at the invitation of a friend overseas. All was going well until about two months ago, after we were well on the road for starting a new program. Our board of trustees had even kicked in with approval and enthusiasm. Suddenly my e-mail questions were not getting answered, and no matter how much we tried, we couldn’t get any response out of this person. Only this week, when I got really aggressive about calling via telephone and finally got a response, did I find out that two hurdles have emerged that make the project iffy.

And I have $200,000 budgeted to this project.

I know we’ll survive somehow, because I constantly trust my work into God’s hands. But I have a need for closure. What happened? What is this friend thinking? Has he simply been afraid to convey bad news? Does he think his currency with me is less if the project takes a nosedive? I still like him and have great respect for his work.

There are two things I’d like to say about all of this. The first is that people need to have the backbone to share bad news. It’s scary at first, but the truth is that the anticipation of giving bad news is always worse than the actual delivery of it. As long as you can give bad news in an empathetic, respectful way, articulating recognition of its cost to the recipient of the news, you’ll be okay. In fact, it very well could increase the likelihood of preserving the relationship.

Secondly, many people need closure. If something isn’t working for you, let them know how it isn’t working as you move on. If you have it in your power to discontinue an activity, a relationship, or your presence in their lives, it seems the right thing to do to offer them some kind of explanation that preserves their dignity while allowing you to disconnect. Be kind. We who are J’s would appreciate that.

Showers

Cartoon found on the web

I first heard of showers back around the age of 9 or 10. It's not that I never took a shower before then; I mean a "shower" as in "wedding shower" or "baby shower."

I remember the occasion clearly. We were visiting the United States and one of my relatives said that we were going to attend a shower. I picked up in the adults' discussion that only women were invited to this shower. The only showers I knew of were the ones in our home that we used for bathing, and "Showers of Blessing" that we sang about from the hymnal. So I seriously thought that this was some as-yet-not-experienced American custom in which we were going to all get together in some room with a whole bunch of shower heads, and take a shower together.

I recall my embarrassment and relief upon learning that the shower we were attending was a party. It wasn't much fun, as I recall. I didn't know what was going to happen there, and at one point an American girl at the party leaned over and said to me, "Ginger, in America we sit with our knees together." I knew I had unwittingly transgressed culture yet again. I felt I had failed as a girl among other girls.

Showers popped up again in my life as I neared the end of college, and continued through my young adult years as friends got married and had babies. Let me be clear: I did not like them. It seemed to me that wedding showers were simply ways to wring more gifts out of people who were already stretching for enough money to afford a wedding gift from the registry (have you noticed those prices?!). Furthermore, I was thoroughly embarrassed by the suggestive comments and gifts that showed up at some of the wedding showers I attended. I learned about things I didn't want to know about. I started avoiding the events, if I could. But if your very good friend is getting married, it is difficult to ignore their wedding shower.

I must be a party-pooper, one that borders on obnoxious at that. I don't enjoy coos and squeals. I don't get a kick out of wrapping someone up in a toilet paper "wedding dress." (It's a waste of toilet paper.) I don't enjoy the game where you have one minute to look at a collection of items and then compete to see who can write down the most items from short-term memory. It's annoying to play little trivia games. I think that most rooms look kind of tacky when people attempt to dress them in crepe paper strands and a cake and mints in the corner.

I realize that I'll never be invited to a wedding shower again after my friends read this. And that's okay. Did I mention that I don't like them? Anyhow, nearly all my friends were married long before I got married. And when I got married, my colleagues threw me a shower where everyone contributed to one set of luggage. That made me blissfully happy, and even more so because the other part of it was for people to drop by during lunch and write marriage advice in a book. No games, fun chats in passing, just a come-and go time at the college where I worked. It could not have been a better shower. I have gone back to my advice book and read the handwritten notes there and smiled and loved the people. My friends took care of me with that one!

Now, baby showers? That's a little different story. A new mom needs both stuff and reassurance from other women. My own mom tells me she didn't have a shower until just before I was born, because she was a doctor and knew all the things that could go wrong and fretted about my safe arrival. She had gotten hardly any baby things, in case she lost me. The other missionary women at the hospital finally sat her down and gave her a shower when she was nigh unto popping, making a "Girl, you've got to get with the program!" statement. 

I see the sense in a baby shower. I'm happy to contribute to the clothes-and-diapers effort. I would rather not do the little games, the crepe paper, or the awkward sitting around for an hour or two. But the showering part I get. At the last one I gave "diaper dollars"--those costs can add up shockingly for new parents--and a mug with a tea sampler box so Mom would be reminded to take some quiet moments for self-care. Who knows if that was good or not. Having not had children myself, I have to guess.

In the end, I recognize we're all different. Some like the squeals and coos, the foo-foo stuff and games. The fact that I don't doesn't make me less womanly. And I guess that's my point in this post: Showers are a cultural tradition. If you're not into them, that's okay too.