Playground Society.

We walked there, my toe throbbing in the sunlight.  He was excited to
visit our neighborhood playground, hoping for other children to play
with.  I took a book along, hoping against hope that since he hadn't
been feeling well he'd content himself at some point to sit on the
grass and let me read to him while he rested.

There were children at the park, a group of five that had obviously
come together.  Their moms sat chatting in the gazebo, infants in
carseats at their feet.  I took my place on the bench, thinking back
to times we'd taken Johanna and Niah to the park; they'd had one
another to partner with in the play area.  Isaiah hung from the monkey
swing, watching the group of kids, teasing one another and then
running; oblivious to the little girl watching him from her position
at the top of the slide.  When the rowdy group entered his sphere he
dropped from his place and asked the apparent leader  of the group, a
girl with long braids, if she wanted to be friends.  My heart sank a
little as I saw her shrug her shoulders, and take off after the little
boy she called Oliver.  She and Oliver had those shoes on that you can
turn into skates.  I knew that was what attracted my boy.  He chased
after them asking if they wanted to play tag.  A short lived game
ensued, and he was forgotten, even as he trailed them trying to make
conversation.  I called Isaiah to me, and pointed out the girl who was
sitting by herself—I had heard her saying tearfully to her father that
no one would play with her.  Isaiah responded to me by pointing out
the other kid's cool shoes.  He was off again trying to entice them in
another round of tag.

The lonely little girl became petulant, whining loudly that nobody
would play with her as she followed the others first with her eyes,
then her body, trying to gain their attention.  I don't
know which was more upsetting, her obvious attempt at manipulation, or
Isaiah's total lack of comprehension that the other kids just weren't
interested in him.  He attempted to engage the kids by enlisting their
mom's support, "Um excuse me?  Can they…."  I cringed at his
interruption, cutting him short as I called him to me once more.

 'Isaiah why don't you just play on the playground equipment?"

"Cause I want to play with my friends."

My attention snapped to the petulant little girl leaving the
playground crying that she didn't want to go, her father's mouth set
in a firm line, as he wheeled her younger brother in the stroller.

I heard the girl with braids telling the moms that Oliver didn't want
to play with her as Oliver spun round and round on a tire swing.

Isaiah still stood there looking at me,  I swallowed and said:

"Saiah they don't want to play with you- just play on the playgound equipment."

"Mom they have cool shoes, I want to play with them."

I felt my frustration rising.  I again told him to just go play.  He
argued with me.  I stood and told him we were leaving.  His eyes
filled with tears as we set off for home.  As we were leaving, I saw a
boy about his age arriving with an adult, his eyes shooting toward
Isaiah, then past him to group of children.  My step faltered for  a
moment, thinking to go back; my sore toe took the brunt of that
falter.  I sucked in my breath and pain, and continued my forward
momentum.

I asked Isaiah if he was angry with me as we walked past the tennis
courts.  He said no, that he was just sad.  Tears overflowed from his
eyes and ran down his cheeks.  I went over the recent events,
explaining to him that those kids weren't interested in playing with
him,  and they were missing out, but that he missed out on having fun
just playing on the playground by chasing them around asking them to
play with him.  He said he knew that, and came back to the skating
shoes.  I reminded him of the little girl who wanted to play.  He
sighed.

He craves the society of others his age.  I wonder if I'm doing a
disservice by keeping him at home, yet I cringe at the idea of putting
him into a school setting where he'll be open to all sorts of
influences, and ideas.   I am so confused at times.  I know I am
protective, always have been.  Our parenting styles were so different
than our friends when Johanna and Niah were younger; shoot, when we
were younger.  Now I find myself wondering what is best, but don't
want our youngest to suffer as I muddle my way through middle aged
parenting.

Prayer comes hard to me these days, but oh how I need His direction.