I was an ugly kid, but I doubt you would think so when you look at my elementary school pictures. Most of the time I looked like any other child. Nothing about me was exceptional either way. I was neither particularly attractive, nor did I look particularly unhappy.
But ugly children know who they are. It is the children who prefer not to see teachers in their class plans at the beginning of the fall semester and who grimaces at their parents when they notice that “this child” is coming to a birthday party. Even most therapists don't like to see the names of these children on their daily schedule.
Ugly children demand the energy of others. You break things. They often rub people – including their colleagues – in the wrong direction. That makes them "ugly" – they make us "ugly".
As a result, they are never the first to be selected for games, and often their comments and thoughts go unnoticed as if they weren't there. Over time, they learn that they are irrelevant, sometimes even at home.
I run a camp for grieving children every summer. We always have a few children who take a lot more time from our time than others. Some require a dedicated employee around the clock. They force us to use all of our abilities and often all of our energy.
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Close-up of the hand of a small child who broke a toy car by pulling off the wheels
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It would be a lot easier if all of my campers were cute and cooperative and fun to work with. But ugly children are my favorites. I would be lying if I said that I am looking forward to the hard work these kids ask of me. The camp is stressful enough given the outdoor conditions, poor sleep, and of course the energy required to help children out in their grief. I would also be lying if I said that I didn't sometimes think “ugly” when I saw certain names on my own therapy agenda.
However, I noticed a long time ago that these children are used to the bitter tones of the voices of those who speak to them. The world these children live in is full of adults and children who make it clear that life would be a lot easier if there were no ugly children. Most of the time this message is unintentional, but it is the message that these children receive anyway.
I'm working hard to get a very different message across. I make sure to select them first, listen carefully to their stories, and show patience that sometimes they don't know what to do with them. It's amazing how quickly I relate to these children and how hard they work to please me as a result. That makes changes in behavior much easier.
So, be it for a few days at camp or during months of therapy, I pledge to pretend that I am the only person on that day (or maybe at all) who makes these children feel like I am I'm glad to see you rather than worried that you need something from me.
It would be a mistake to believe that ugliness is limited to children. It is not. Adults can be ugly too, and like the children I have described, they know who they are. Her life was full of rejection, and that is often the core of some of her problems.
Many years ago a customer of mine was an ugly child. I know because he told me. “My teachers don't like me,” he said on the first day we met. He didn't complain. Just list the facts. This boy had gone through several important life events that would have challenged any adult.
He was boisterous and broke something almost every time he came into my office. When he left every day, the sand in my sandpit was always on the floor and most of the toys were off the shelves. It was hard work, but I loved this kid. I was his lifeline for a more peaceful future. We worked together for several years because he weathered many storms.
Today he is approaching 30 and I see him occasionally in the ward. He is six feet tall and weighs me at least 50 pounds. Yet every time I see this very successful young man, he hugs me with the deepest affection. I will always be “Dr. Gregor. "
Anyone can work with light children. Professionals take on the challenges of the tough, and that's why ugly kids are my favorites. Perhaps they can also become your favorites.
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Gregory K. Moffatt is a senior counselor with over 30 years of experience and the Dean of the College of Social and Behavioral Sciences at Point University. In his monthly “Voice of Experience” column for CT Online, he wants to share the theory, ethics and practice lessons from his diverse career as well as inspiration for today's consulting professionals, whether they are just starting out or have been practicing for many years. His experience spans three decades of working with children, trauma, and abuse, as well as a host of other experiences including working with schools, businesses, and law enforcement agencies. Contact him at [email protected].
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Opinions and statements in articles appearing on CT Online should not be construed as the opinions of the editors or guidelines of the American Counseling Association.
