At the playground last Friday, I had to get my son’s back for the first time, and probably not the last time. There was a group of 6 boys around 7-8 years old who were running up and around the winding stairs, bridges, and “towers” of the huge, complex wooden set. Oliver was coming up and around a narrow set of spiral steps and these boys were tearing across the bridge that connected to them, so as he reached the top and ended up face to face with them, it surprised/scared him. The boys were delighted with this, and circled around him, arms up and making scary sounds. Oliver was backed up against a railing with nowhere to go as they closed in on him, and he panicked.

Normally I stand back and let Oliver handle himself with other kids. I don’t want to hover or shield him from every uncomfortable situation. We’ve taught him to treat others nicely, but I also want him to stand up for himself when he needs to. However—six against one? And the one is half their age? I DON’T THINK SO.

“Hey, guys,” I called up lightly, “leave him alone, ok?”

The boys looked down in surprise, saw me, and ran off again.

Yet another incident occurred a short time afterward, when a 4-year old boy arrived and decided to befriend Oliver. This boy was about 2/3 Oliver’s size but VERY bossy. His grandmother found it quite endearing that he read Oliver’s “Birthday Boy” shirt and kept yelling, “Birthday Boy, BIRTHDAY BOOOYYYY! Come on, Birthday Boy, follow me!” The first couple times might have been cute, but the last half an hour, it was just annoying.

Oliver played with Bossy Boy—i.e. followed him around as the boy instructed—for a few minutes before getting bored. At one point Bossy Boy ordered him to climb up the stairs to the tower, and Oliver pointed in the opposite direction across the bridge, saying, “I’m just going this way.” Bossy Boy again told him to go up to the tower, but Oliver ignored him and started hopping across the bridge. Getting in Oliver’s way, he mocked Oliver’s hopping. Oliver, thinking he was playing along, hopped again. Bossy Boy then told him to stop it and asked me, “What’s wrong with him?”

What’s wrong with him? What’s WRONG with HIM? Oh, no, you didn’t, Bossy Boy.

“Nothing,” I said with my teeth clenched into a forced smile. “He just wants to go across the bridge.”

Bossy Boy let Oliver past him but then proceeded to chase him, screeching “BIRTHDAY BOY! I can seeeeee yoooouuu, Birthday Boy!” which Oliver (understandably) did not like. He finally went down a slide and ran underneath to the other side, losing Bossy Boy at last.

I’d had enough by then and told Oliver we were going home for lunch. Normally he would beg to stay longer, but this time he looked relieved. Still, he politely told Bossy Boy goodbye.

Kids are going to be kids. I realize that. Most of the time, I let Oliver deal with them, because that’s life. But no one is going to gang up on him, or boss him around and then ask me what’s wrong with him. I stepped in because he is only three years old and he needed me to show him it’s ok to stand up for yourself or someone else; it’s ok not to be a follower, it’s ok to do your own thing. I stepped in because maybe someday his younger brother will get ganged up on or bossed around, and he will look to Oliver—and I want Oliver to have HIS back, to be HIS example.

It is a hard balance, deciding when to step in and when to step back. It is a constant dance. I worry that I’m not doing this right.

Back in the car, I smoothed the sweaty curls away from his forehead. “Did you have fun today?”

“Yes!” he replied happily. “Can we go back to the slides after lunch?”

All that counts, in the end, is that he tries, and I try. He asks to “play with all the kids” again and again, even though he’s still terrified of half of them AND their mothers. (Sometimes I am too.) He keeps smiling, and we keep going to the playground because most kids smile back.