Like the Plague

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(continuing from the previous post)


3. Conflict

I am embarrassingly drawn to idiom. It's a dreadful curse for a writer, especially for a would-be poet. Yet, there is something wise and playful about those silly nonsensical phrases, and I miss the freedom of searching my mental file for just the right one to fit the moment. I stop myself from uttering them, but it's like stopping myself from laughing - I feel bottled up, repressed.

I got to thinking about conflict, and how I avoid conflict "like the plague." I became side-tracked by the idiom. Image: the costume of the plague doctor, the broad-brimmed hat, the bird-beak mask, the black greased robe, all meant to instill fear as much as to protect the wearer. Scent of pungent herbs, to kill disease, or to obliterate the smell of death. The masks are for sale in tourist shops in Venice; you can play Doktor Schnabel von Rom crossing brick bridges across backstreet canals, rustling in the 14th century night.

But that's the digression, and the avoidance, of the subject at hand. Conflict, which I avoid like the plague, and didn't I just?

I've become two things, at times, from avoiding conflict: frustrated; and a very good diplomat. The frustration of non-confrontation cost me my first marriage, while good diplomacy has saved my second. I have learned, painfully, that anger or even annoyance not expressed makes me bitter and snarky, and fills me with death-wishes for those I purportedly love. It's a pattern I didn't want to repeat when I entered into a relationship with John.

Diplomacy doesn't come instantly; I'm a percolator. When shit comes up, I need time to think about it. It's maddening to someone who likes to out-and-out fight, I suppose, if they don't understand what I'm doing. I need to wait for the emotion to pass, so that I don't say things I later regret. It might look like refusal to engage, but really it's a refusal to engage badly.



Am I supposed to be describing a specific conflict here?

There's conflict going on in my classroom right now. Pre-pubescent girls, need I say more? There are two circles of girls suffering almost identical problems: each has one girl slightly on the outside. Each of the "outside" girls is trying too hard to fit, I think, and has ended up doing or saying things that, well, piss the others right off. All the girls, however, are basically nice girls, and have come to me asking how they should handle it, how they could let the "other" know without hurting her or outright dumping her.

The most recent situation came up in a class meeting (no names named), girls describing the behaviour of a girl who happened to be away that day. After hearing about backstabbing and badmouthing, a boy's response was, "Why bother playing with somebody who does stuff like that?" Boys, gotta love 'em: they'll pound each other out, then get back on the soccer field together. For girls, though, it’s so complicated; they will allow themselves to be hurt repeatedly rather than intentionally hurt someone back. And the drama can last for months.

I told the girls the only right thing to do was to talk about the problem with the girl involved. I told them it wouldn't be easy. I told them feelings would be hurt. I told them they didn’t have to say anything, but that the problem wouldn’t go away and that the girl would end up hurt no matter what; at least if they talked to her, she’d have the opportunity to change her behaviour.

They took me at my word. They talked. Tuesday at lunch the one girl was crying in the washroom. By week’s end, there were seven of them. (And I'm supposed to teach curriculum!) Parents have jumped into the fray, and I've had more meetings with this mom or that dad this week than I have all year, or so it feels. There have been emails printed and passed around, rumours spread, secrets revealed – by parents.

The girls are working it out. They forget themselves and smile and laugh together, moments here and there. ("Oh, right. I'm mad at her," I imagine the inner dialogue.) The parents, not so easy a fix.

These girls, eleven years old, mustered more courage than I ever could have, and confronted a friend who was behaving badly. I don't know, and they don't know yet, if it made things better.

Or if the real lesson they've learned is to avoid conflict like the plague.






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