Cruel to Be Kind: Saying no can save a child’s life. Cathy Glass

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СКАЧАТЬ for a child of his age, was sad.

      That night, as Max climbed into bed, with the Toy Story posters on his bedroom walls and Buzz Lightyear sitting on the bed, he said wistfully, ‘I wish I was Andy, then all the toys could be my friends.’ For anyone who doesn’t know the film Toy Story, it is a computer-animated adventure story where the toys owned by six-year-old Andy come to life and have amazing adventures.

      ‘It’s a nice idea,’ I said.

      He nodded. ‘I don’t really have friends at school.’

      ‘I’m sure you do,’ I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Mrs Marshall said what a lovely boy you are.’ I’d already told Max in the car coming home from school that she’d said he was doing very well in lessons.

      ‘If my toys were alive, I could play games with them. I don’t play with anyone at school.’

      ‘Why is that?’ I asked gently. I was pretty sure I knew the reason, as Mrs Marshall had, but I wanted to hear what Max had to say.

      ‘The kids play running games and I can’t keep up with them,’ he explained. ‘They don’t want me to play with them, really.’

      ‘How do you know that?’ I asked, inching the conversation towards the possibility of Max being bullied. ‘Do they say something?’

      He shrugged. ‘Not really. They’re not allowed to. It’s the way they look at each other. I can tell from their faces they don’t want me in their team.’

      ‘I understand,’ I said. It wasn’t overt bullying but the result was the same, and clearly you can’t force children to play with a particular child. In PE Mrs Marshall was in control and included and encouraged Max to participate, as she did the other overweight child in the class. The playground was very different and a free-for-all.

      ‘I can’t run like they can,’ Max added quietly, picking up Buzz Lightyear for comfort. ‘I’m very slow and I can’t keep up. I get hot and out of breath and go red in the face.’

      I nodded sympathetically. ‘But perhaps you could join in with their games in a way that doesn’t involve you running fast.’

      ‘Like what?’ he asked. ‘All their games involve running.’ Which was probably true, as children of this age are usually very active, especially after having to sit quietly during lessons.

      ‘Well, let me see,’ I said, thinking. ‘What about this for an idea? If they play football you could offer to be the goalkeeper, or the linesman, or referee. You wouldn’t need to run much in those positions.’

      ‘That’s true,’ he said, ‘but they play a lot of tag and other chasing games like stuck in the mud and shipwrecked.’

      ‘OK. So you could be “home” or the “safe place”?’ This was the person or place the child being chased could go to so they couldn’t be caught.

      Max looked thoughtful. ‘That might work.’

      ‘Have a think about it and I’m sure you can come up with ways of joining in. You read a lot of books and have a good imagination.’ He nodded. Max hadn’t mentioned his actual weight as being the problem. He hadn’t said, ‘I’m fat and I can’t run fast enough.’ His concern had been about joining in and I thought it best to deal with that issue. If he began talking about his weight and the need to lose some then I would do all I could to help him. But of course losing the weight would be a long-term goal and would require encouragement, willpower and the full commitment of his mother.

      Chapter Eight

       Tears

      On Saturday morning, when I went into Max’s bedroom to see if he was awake, I found him sitting up in bed reading, which he told me he did at home at the weekends. Then he said that on Saturdays and Sundays and during the school holidays he had two breakfasts at home to make up for the one he didn’t have at school, and would he be doing the same with me. I explained that we usually had breakfast and then a mid-morning snack, which he accepted, but it soon became clear that this wasn’t enough for Max. Not only was he used to having two breakfasts, he also ate constantly throughout the day, given the opportunity. I sensed that eating had become a habit for him – a pastime – rather than resulting from any pressing need to satiate hunger, which is what usually drives healthy eating. Max told me that at home he and his sisters helped themselves to biscuits, packets of crisps, chocolate bars and drinks of cola and lemonade whenever they wanted to. He said he ate these snacks in his bedroom, where he appeared to spend most of his time, as the television was always on in the living room with programmes about celebrities that his sisters liked. Of course, Max could have some snack foods with me, but in moderation, and I hoped to replace some of them with healthier alternatives.

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