As a parent, you often find yourself balancing two hopes: wishing your child is just like you while also wanting them to be nothing like you. Often, you get a mix of both—like my son, who clearly inherited my awkwardness but none of my smooth dance moves. I found myself reflecting on this last week as I sat on the floor, comforting my 7-year-old son, Lucas, who was sobbing (yes, we share that trait) about having too many friends.
It seems odd, right? I mean, when people daydream about winning the lottery, I’m over here imagining every possible challenge my child might face and how I’ll be there to support him. However, I never anticipated that I would be drying tears while Lucas lamented, “Everyone wants to play with me, but sometimes I just want to be alone!”
I had to stifle a laugh. How is this even a problem? Reflecting on my own childhood, I remember the tears I shed over pressing matters like, “Why is my nose so big?” or “I just want to fit in!” But here was Lucas, genuinely upset. Unlike me, he’s a natural leader. Kids gravitate toward him—not because he’s an athletic superstar (he’s quite petite), but because he’s hilarious, clever, and brimming with imagination. He’s confident, perhaps overly so, convincing himself he excels at everything—like when he insists his impression of a certain actor is spot-on. “It’s alright, buddy,” I reassure him, “but it’s not exactly Oscar-worthy.”
But there’s something about his outgoing nature that draws his classmates in, making him a bit of a social magnet. It turns out, being the center of attention can be a heavy burden when all he wants to do is spend recess pretending to be superheroes or classic comedians. I encouraged him to tell his friends, “I need some alone time today,” but he was worried about hurting one particular friend’s feelings. This isn’t typical for Lucas, who usually needs reminding to consider others. I was proud of him for recognizing this moment; he was genuinely concerned about his friend’s emotions.
So, I had the delicate task of explaining that while he should indeed be mindful of others, he is not responsible for their feelings. It was a tricky lesson, but I think he understood it—or as much as a 7-year-old with a healthy dose of ego could. The next day, I joined him as he awkwardly told his friend that he wanted time alone, but it didn’t change their friendship. (It’s not you, it’s me.) After a bit of hesitation, his friend responded with a simple, “Okay.”
It appears that one can be both kind and assertive about personal boundaries. If only I had learned this lesson sooner, perhaps I wouldn’t have grown into the people-pleaser that I am today. Then I might even be able to tell my son just how bad his impressions really are.
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Summary:
Navigating the complexities of childhood friendships can be challenging, as my son Lucas discovered when he felt overwhelmed by his social circle. Through this experience, I learned the importance of teaching him that it’s okay to set boundaries while still being considerate of others’ feelings.