As he was getting ready for kindergarten this morning, Lincoln asked if he could wear his purple and blue shirt. I said of course he could and it was one of my favorites. "Ok, mom! Mine too!"
In the car he asked if his hair looked funny, as he was attempting to flatten one wild piece in the back, formed perfectly by his adorable cowlick. "No, it looks fine. Why?"
L: Because I don't want the kids to laugh at me if my hair sticks up.
Me: (Confused at his newly discovered self conscienceness) Have they laughed at you for that before?
L: No, but they did laugh at me for wearing this purple shirt. Cause I'm a boy and it's purple.
I welled up. Not gonna lie. Not because he had been picked on, but because I was looking in my review mirror at my little boy, almost 6 years old, wearing that same purple shirt. I chose my words wisely. I put on my biggest, most joyful grin. I explained that it would have been easier for him to not want to wear it again because of the mean remarks from his peers, but I was so proud of him that he was choosing to stand up for himself and wear it again! I asked him what he does when someone picks on him, expecting him to say "tell the teacher." Nope. "I just ignore it!!" I laughed and told him that if it continues and he feels hurt by people it's ok and sometimes good to tell the teacher. In this situation he chose to turn the other cheek. He chose to be "unbuggable" to quote my dad.
When I picked him up, I asked if anyone commented on his shirt and he said, "Well, just one girl laughed and pointed. But I just told her to sit back down on her rug square." :)
