I’ve heard that one of the best ways to get over an allergy is to slowly desensitize yourself to whatever it is you are allergic to. For example, if you are allergic to bee stings you should expose yourself to a tiny bit of bee venom every day, increasing the dosage until you got to the point where you aren’t affected quite so adversely. Or, I suppose, if you continue the desensitization, to the point where it doesn’t affect you at all. Heck, if you keep it up I bet you could get to the point where you could just stick your whole arm into a beehive and walk away unaffected. Or, to put it in terms that are more relevant to my family and our situation, get to the point where you could walk into the killing fields we call Middle School and walk out unscathed. Because that’s exactly what has happened to my son, Clyde. And he owes it all to his older sister, Clementine.
I must admit that at the time I didn’t really appreciate that Clementine was putting Clyde through a desensitization regimen: I didn’t realize that Clementine’s daily barbs and slights from the time Clyde was old enough to understand language were not, in fact, some evil, twisted torment dreamt up by a sick and vicious mind, but instead were daily inoculations against bullying. That her constant assault on Clyde’s sense of self-worth and dignity was not a sociopath grooming her victim, but rather the loving prep work of a caring older sister who was worried about her sweet, sensitive younger brother dealing with the viciousness that was waiting for him just down the road. However, now that he is right in the thick of that fresh hell we call Middle School, I can see that that, in fact, was exactly what she was doing.
Desensitizing him.
It almost makes me feel sorry for the kids who might try and bully Clyde; after all, what casually hurled insult shouted out across a crowded school bus could possibly compare to having your older sister whisper into your ear each and every morning, “No one here ever really wanted you.” For that matter, what slander scrawled across a locker door can ever compete with having every word that comes out of your mouth from the time you are two until you are old enough to fight back replied to with “Shut up, Clyde.” Your average 13 year-old bully is a rank amateur compared to an almost-always-pissy older sister.
In fact, I can just imagine Clyde’s reaction to being taunted at school the first time. He probably stood there patiently waiting for the warm-up act to finish so that the real torture could begin, only to be confused when his would-be tormentor finally walked away.
“Wait a minute! “I’m stupid, ugly and what? Where’s the rest?”
He did actually tell me about a few times when he was still taking the bus to school that older kids attempted to bully him, but I got the impression that it took at least three times before Clyde was even able to figure out what was going on. “There’s this kid on the bus that seems really unhappy all the time,” he said. “I have no idea why.” (It was only later, when I found out that “really unhappy” was Clydespeak for “said he was going to beat me up” that I finally got the picture. Even if Clyde never did.)
Still, as successful as the “Clementine Method” has been, I’m not sure that I would recommend it for everyone. Having watched it in action over the last ten years, I would suggest starting out with something easier instead.
Like maybe sticking your arm inside a beehive.