Julie Jay: Passing remarks to children can have a lasting effect on their self-esteem

“What do you mean, pet?” I asked, clicking in his belt. “Why would you think that?”

“Because everyone says I’m so big,” he replied sullenly.

As I sat into the driver’s seat, it struck me how every passing comment to a child carries the potential for misinterpretation, how everything we say to them is nothing short of a minefield in how it might impact their self-esteem down the line.

Admittedly, adults often note how tall my eldest is, because it’s true. Of course, these same adults are no doubt fully sure the little fella will only be delighted to hear that, in Irish history terms, he is basically Michael Collins — head and shoulders above his peers and slow to sign all Anglo-Irish treaties. Little do they know that he is now at saturation point with it all.

Over the summer, a friend spoke of her frustration with passersby not considering the impact of their words on her children. Her three children are beautiful, which is no surprise, given that my friend and her husband are only gorgeous, so gorgeous that I should hate them but I don’t, because I’m the bigger person like that.

All her children could model for any major retailer in the morning, but because her youngest child has darker features, many passersby comment on him, in particular. After all, having brown eyes in Ireland is like working in the financial sector and having a social conscience — it instantly marks you out as special.

Unbeknownst to these well-meaning strangers, they have been driving this little boy’s older siblings around the twist, who are, according to my friend, sick to death of their brother’s chocolate-brown eyes eliciting ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from fellow parents. My friend’s biggest fear is that the attention her youngest gets might impact the self-esteem of her other children, because every parent knows that the knock-on effect of singling out any one sibling can be felt for a lifetime.

For children, the throwaway comments adults make can reverberate for years. 

As a primary school child, I remember asking a hairdresser if I could get a fringe, only for her to tell me that “you needed a really pretty face” for that. Reading between the lines, I took the hint and settled for a trim, and, 30 years later, I have not summoned the courage to get bangs.

Another pal of mine — stunning, even when desperately hungover and with a raging infection — was once sitting beside a lady on the bus who volunteered advice that lemon juice could get rid of her freckles, not realising that this was a sore point for my friend, who, like so many Irish women of a certain age, is utterly oblivious to her beauty.

It took me aback when my little guy bemoaned his height, but I can understand how it has started to grate, because rarely does a trip to the shop go by when somebody doesn’t note how fast he is shooting up. It must get tiresome to constantly discuss something they have not chosen, nor done, but couldn’t change even if they wanted to.

Last summer, while Number One was gallivanting around a playground in north Kildare, a fellow parent marvelled at how easily he could scale the climbing wall, given his stature. This person was even more stunned to find out he was still in playschool and asked if his dad was tall. If this was a dig at my diminutive stature, I was too tired to get offended.

“His uncle is very tall,” my mother responded, no doubt leaving this person the impression my husband was of the Tom Cruise variety. This is all the more surprising given that my husband is very tall, with his little brother probably edging him out in the Abraham Lincoln stakes by about an inch.

When it comes to complimenting children, clothes and accessories are a safe bet, because they don’t pertain to something essential or something about themselves that they cannot change. One of Number One’s friends from playschool is partial to a cap and glasses, and it always brings a Berlin clubber vibe to his West Kerry school setting. I often compliment his latest trucker hat or his choice of shades, but in the wake of my son reaching his limit regarding comments about his height, I am reassessing my approach to his buddies.

Nothing brings out the child in us like somebody commenting on a physical attribute and inadvertently drawing attention to something of which we are self-conscious.

So, let’s try to avoid compliments pertaining to physical appearance and, instead, congratulate children on their curiosity, their kindness, and their ability to hide their mothers’ keys with terrifying success.

Whether making small talk with children or grown-ups, it’s probably best to stick with the safe subjects of politics and religion because when it comes down to it, whatever your age, nothing is more divisive to Irish people than a fringe.