Zombies, bullies & cannibalizing kids

"We interviewed most of the children in your son's class and were able to determine that what your son is claiming has been going on." This was the principal at my son's school, where he attended in Spring 2014.

You know that moment when you've been expecting the worst news possible, and you've been keeping it together until you find out for sure? You try not to give in to your assumptions. You hold on to the anger, the grief, the feelings of helplessness while you wait for someone else to tell you what you know is the truth. My heart and my stomach fell to my knees, while blood and water rushed to my face.

The only thing keeping me from going over the desk at my son's teacher's face was the gentle touch of my sister's hand on my arm.

I had told the teacher a couple of months earlier what was going on, that my son was being bullied at school.

She sat there, eyes looking down at the floor beneath the conference table, slumped in her chair and hands between her knees.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" my sister asked, quietly.

I stared through squinched eyes at the teacher and replied to her alone, through clenched teeth. "I have nothing productive to say." The teacher glanced up at me then turned her attention back to the floor. I burst into tears again.

As a parent, part of my job is to protect my son. This isn't always easy, as we would like. Especially when you have a child who doesn't say anything because he's afraid his "friends" won't like him any more, or because he's afraid he is the one who will be in trouble. And I tell him: I can't fix something, if I don't know there's a problem.

In an ideal world, there shouldn't be these situations which warrant "fixing." In an ideal world, my son would be having the time of his elementary-aged life at school -- learning, playing with friends and making new ones.

Up until this incident, he spoke of the world as being his family: every boy was his brother and every girl, his sister. A bigger heart no child could have: the world is a family. Family love each other. This is unconditional and unwavering. Family are noble and honorable and accepting.

The boy is different than the other kids, and they can smell it on him. They smell his innocence, his magic and his world view, and they want to cannibalize it.

I disliked those children, I'll admit it. For months I pondered over how these children got this way. How did the culture of that classroom get to the point that it was okay for every single child to attack another child? Aside from the lack of intervention by the teacher, who, by their inaction or verbal encouragement (purposeful or not), could possibly be responsible?

Then I found a face to put on it.

That fall, football season brought much excitement, as this was the first year the boy would be eligible to play tackle, instead of flag. Aged 9 and 10 years old, these teams practiced hard. And my son was the biggest kid on his team, comparable only to one other child in his league. He stood head and shoulders taller and half-again as wide-shouldered as any of the others. He presented a formidable foe on the field.

"Why are they letting a fifth-grader play at this level?"

I heard the question come from behind me.

The woman continued to make comments throughout the first quarter about No. 50 on tackle. The other team had two guards on him, and he pushed right through them. At one point, they even put three guards on him: same results.

"He shouldn't be allowed to play! Look how much bigger he is than all the kids! He's going to hurt somebody!"

I tired of hearing her rant about my son: "Excuse me? Just so you know, my son just turned 9 years old, and he's in the third grade. He's completely eligible to play."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Didn't mean to offend me or just sorry that I heard you?"

Then he tackled a very small but wiry kid, fast with good footwork. The woman behind me started screaming, "Get him off my kid, ref! He's gonna hurt him!"

Perhaps you shouldn't let him play, if you're worried about your kid getting hurt. Perhaps you should try teaching your kid that my boy could be a gentle giant.

Perhaps you could find out from your kid after the game that your son had been trash talking mine the whole time, and my kid had had enough, because now, your kid is a bully in the eyes of mine.

Perhaps you could teach your child to not be the kind of bully that you are. Perhaps you could actually parent your child, instead of indoctrinating him into the hatred you hold for anything different.

When you talk about other kids like that, does your son hear you? Do you think you're teaching him that being so much larger than all the other kids is a blessing or a curse? Do you actually believe that my son has anything to do with how small yours is? Or are you just being a bitch?

Can you smell the kids who are different? Can you smell their magic? Do you want to cannibalize it, too? Yes?

There's a real-life word for people like you: zombie. Going through life not questioning the values you've been taught or actually listening to the words that come out of your mouth. There's just that drive to belittle others, to go after them and devour them with your small mind.

There's a huge difference between playground teasing and out-and-out bullying. I will admit that I was one of those parents, previous to this incident at his school, that parents were over-reacting. And perhaps a lot of them do. But I have now become one of those mothers will will come after anyone who should be listening about my son being bullied--not teased. I will be heard, and something will be done.

Even if it's just pissing off a small-minded parent.

#parenting #children #bullies #school #teacher