Cathy Glass - Cruel to Be Kind

‘Yes.’

‘And tomorrow we’re going to play in the tent?’

‘We are.’

‘I’m hungry. Can I have a snack when we get home?’

‘Yes.’

And his face lit up at the prospect of eating, the thought of food giving him as much – if not more – pleasure as his posters or playing in a tent, which I thought, for a child of his age, was sad.

That night, as Max climbed into bed, with the Toy Story posters on his bedroom walls and Buzz Lightyear sitting on the bed, he said wistfully, ‘I wish I was Andy, then all the toys could be my friends.’ For anyone who doesn’t know the film Toy Story , it is a computer-animated adventure story where the toys owned by six-year-old Andy come to life and have amazing adventures.

‘It’s a nice idea,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘I don’t really have friends at school.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Mrs Marshall said what a lovely boy you are.’ I’d already told Max in the car coming home from school that she’d said he was doing very well in lessons.

‘If my toys were alive, I could play games with them. I don’t play with anyone at school.’

‘Why is that?’ I asked gently. I was pretty sure I knew the reason, as Mrs Marshall had, but I wanted to hear what Max had to say.

‘The kids play running games and I can’t keep up with them,’ he explained. ‘They don’t want me to play with them, really.’

‘How do you know that?’ I asked, inching the conversation towards the possibility of Max being bullied. ‘Do they say something?’

He shrugged. ‘Not really. They’re not allowed to. It’s the way they look at each other. I can tell from their faces they don’t want me in their team.’

‘I understand,’ I said. It wasn’t overt bullying but the result was the same, and clearly you can’t force children to play with a particular child. In PE Mrs Marshall was in control and included and encouraged Max to participate, as she did the other overweight child in the class. The playground was very different and a free-for-all.

‘I can’t run like they can,’ Max added quietly, picking up Buzz Lightyear for comfort. ‘I’m very slow and I can’t keep up. I get hot and out of breath and go red in the face.’

I nodded sympathetically. ‘But perhaps you could join in with their games in a way that doesn’t involve you running fast.’

‘Like what?’ he asked. ‘All their games involve running.’ Which was probably true, as children of this age are usually very active, especially after having to sit quietly during lessons.

‘Well, let me see,’ I said, thinking. ‘What about this for an idea? If they play football you could offer to be the goalkeeper, or the linesman, or referee. You wouldn’t need to run much in those positions.’

‘That’s true,’ he said, ‘but they play a lot of tag and other chasing games like stuck in the mud and shipwrecked.’

‘OK. So you could be “home” or the “safe place”?’ This was the person or place the child being chased could go to so they couldn’t be caught.

Max looked thoughtful. ‘That might work.’

‘Have a think about it and I’m sure you can come up with ways of joining in. You read a lot of books and have a good imagination.’ He nodded. Max hadn’t mentioned his actual weight as being the problem. He hadn’t said, ‘I’m fat and I can’t run fast enough.’ His concern had been about joining in and I thought it best to deal with that issue. If he began talking about his weight and the need to lose some then I would do all I could to help him. But of course losing the weight would be a long-term goal and would require encouragement, willpower and the full commitment of his mother.

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