Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Sydney's / Melbourne's / Brisbane's Child, 2008

Playground Politics


A peal of laughter erupted from the room next to me. Outside, I dejectedly kicked a ball around the playground and watched the children take turns on the slide. Afterwards, amid a volley of cheery farewells – ‘Talk to you tomorrow’, ‘See you on Saturday’ – I received a polite ‘Have a good week, then’. But this wasn’t school. It was playgroup. And I was the interloper.

For many Mums, the weekly ritual of playgroup is an event to look forward to. It’s a chance for a bit of a chat, a bit of a laugh and some adult interaction while the kids have a play. For some Mums however it can be a mixed blessing. Sure it gets us out, gets our children stimulated and socialising. But it can sometimes lead to us feeling more alone than we were before we joined. Take my first playgroup experience. When my son was born I was late off the mark in joining a local playgroup and, with the walls closing in around me ten months later, I was beginning to understand why they were so popular. So I signed up with a local playgroup. My first day was nerve-wracking – getting my tongue pierced sounded more attractive than fronting up to a bunch of women who had already enjoyed a year of bonding and asking if my child and I could be their friend. At first it all seemed fine. Sure, they didn’t ask much about me or my son but that just took time, right? Several troubling months of playing catch-up ensued, after which I somewhat belatedly realised that these women were never going to let me in. And I don’t think it was personal either. It was just abundantly clear that this group didn’t want any new members in their club. Over those months I watched as other new Mums tentatively joined, got ignored, and crept out again several weeks later. I guess I was a bit slow – it took me nearly a year to twig before taking my son and what was left of my dignity and bolting for the door.

The pack is a fickle beast. Street gangs who have been happy enough to beat someone up are, when separated, rarely able to give an adequate explanation as to why they did it. Individually, I had gotten along with most of these women incredibly well. As a group however there was a distinct code – they talked and us interlopers listened. If one of us dared interject the ambient room temperature dropped by several notches. As a lifetime member of the ‘sisterhood’, I found this lack of support between women – especially Mums – a little bemusing. Mums (and Dads) need peer groups that support and encourage, not reject them. Surely being a parent is a tough enough job - who needs this kind of flack?

In retrospect, and despite the nagging feeling I’d failed to give it a red-hot go, I’m so glad we left when we did. And happily, several weeks later another door opened in the form of an invitation to join a different playgroup. My son and I eagerly jumped back into the fray and are now active members of a group that is not only very inclusive, but does finger-painting as well. We both get to enjoy the social contact and acceptance we were looking for in a loving, nurturing environment. Which is what playgroup is all about, really.