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Peer Pressure
A great story on the dismantling of peer pressure from a loving source.
Date: 3/16/2006 6:45:35 PM ( 18 y ) ... viewed 1566 times Revenge of the Fifth-Grade Girls
By Carolyn Magner Mason
A mother cannot force her daughters to become sisters. She cannot make
them be friends or companions or even cohorts in crime. But, if she's
very lucky, they find sisterhood for themselves and have one true ally
for life. My daughters did not seem likely candidates for sisterly
love. They are as different as night and day, and as contrary as any two
girls living under the same roof can possibly manage.
My youngest daughter, Laura, is smart, athletic and good at most
everything she tries. But for her, friendships are tricky. When, at
seven years old, she was thrust into the world of lunch pals and
sleepovers, she struggled to survive.
Catherine, on the other hand, sits at the top of the elementary
school pecking order. A bright, popular and beautiful fifth-grader, she
is usually surrounded by a bevy of adoring girlfriends. When you are
in second grade, a word or nod from a fifth-grade girl is the greatest
thing that can happen. But Catherine and her friends seldom noticed her
sister's valiant attempts to be noticed.
One hectic morning, while getting ready for school, both girls
began begging for a new hairstyle. Sighing, I gathered brushes, combs and
pins and quickly created new looks. I braided Laura's wispy locks into
a snazzy side-braid. I combed Catherine's shiny black hair into a
sleek, French twist. They twirled in front of the mirror, pleased with
what I'd done.
Laura bounced out the door, swinging her braid proudly. But at
school, one girl pointed at her and whispered to the other girls. Then
the girl walked up to Laura and asked in a scathing tone, "What's with
the stinking braid?"
Laura crumbled. After getting permission from her teacher, she
went to the bathroom, where she sat and cried in an empty stall. Then
she splashed cold water on her face and bravely returned to the classroom
- braid intact.
That afternoon, she broke my heart with her sad tale. How could I
have sent her out wearing a stinking braid? How could I have set her
back in her meager attempts to fit in with the other girls? I fought
back my tears as I drove my girls home. Hearing her sister's sorrow,
Catherine sat in stony silence, and as I often do, I wished they had the
kind of bond that would allow them to reach out to each other. I barely
noticed Catherine spent more time on the phone than usual that evening.
The next afternoon, when I pulled to the front of the carpool
line, I discovered a small miracle had occurred. There stood Laura,
surrounded by the smartest, cutest, most popular fifth-grade girls. My tiny
daughter glowed with utter astonishment as they twirled her around,
complimented her and focused a brilliant light of attention upon her.
And, to my amazement, every single one wore a side-braid, exactly like the
one Laura had worn the day before. Ten stinking braids, I thought, as
I tried to swallow the lump lodged in my throat.
"I don't know what happened!" exclaimed Laura, clambering into the
van. "I looked up, and all the girls were wearing my braid." She
grinned all the way home, arms wrapped around skinny knees, reliving her
short life's happiest moment.
I glanced at Catherine in the rearview mirror, and I think she
winked at me. I'm not sure.
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