Susiej

Is so you can point out the picture of the bully to the older brother, so that he can watch out for his little brother.

The words slipped out of his mouth while I was busy wiping down the counters, cleaning up the dinner dishes, and trying to get the kids to bed so that I could settle down in a house of peace and quiet.

Not a word of the incident was mentioned when I asked him “How was your day,” when I picked him up after school; nor did the story come out earlier that morning when I woke him and he said, “I don’t want to go to school today.”

Everything appeared normal.

He played with his brothers, ate his snack, grumbled about dinner and did his homework. We were alone in the kitchen, and he was doing his usual non-stop chattering, that I sometimes robotically nod my head to, and say “Yeah, uh huh.” This time, the words didn’t sound quite right,

He pushed me down to the ground and he said if I ever tell anybody about this, he’d beat me up.

Alarm rose to my race, and he instantly read what I would do: call the teacher, make a fuss, and soon, the kid would find out and beat him up.

So, he changed his story, and said, “It didn’t really happen.”

I finally got the name out of him. We soothed our worried son by explaining that we were trying to help the bully too; he needs to learn that you don’t treat people like that. He’s not going to get in trouble, we assured him; he just needs some help right now.

In the school yearbook, we searched for his face, and I couldn’t believe who this bully was. I liked this kid; when I volunteered in the classroom, he was always so quiet, well-behaved and such a hard worker. I really liked this kid, and I remembered his Mom. She was the one standing on the playground arguing with him about raking the leaves.

Once I had the mug shot, I called his older brother downstairs, pointed out the kid’s face, and told him to watch out for this kid. That’s when I learned that the younger kids are separated from the older kids on the playgrounds, for safety reasons. So now the kids get to play IN the actual Lions Den, with the Lions. My older son would never be in the same space with the bully and his little brother.

I had the whole glorious scene planned out in my mind: the older son would form an army with his friends, and they’d march over to the bully, line up in a circle around him and say, “We’re watching you; so layoff the little kid.” The bully, his eyes bulging out of his sockets, would run away and never think of laying a hand on my son again. Soon the word would get around, and no one would every think of messing with any of the boys in our house; some big brother would always be around to take care of you if you did.

I put my fantasy aside and emailed the teacher; I talked to the aides who monitor the playground; I put everyone I could think of “on-alert.” Except, I didn’t call the Mom. I didn’t know her that well, and it was hard to say what ramifications that would have; I was, naturally, still worried about my son’s safety on the playground.

Two days later, I volunteered in my son’s classroom. My task was to take each child out into the hallway, alone, to pull a name out of the hat for Secret Santa. Soon, I was alone with the bully.

I was tempted to do many things; no one was watching me, no one would ever know. Without thinking about what to do, or planning a speech, I looked him directly in the eye and said, “I’m you-know-who’s Mom.”

I waited for him to respond. He looked down, and said, “Yeah, I know.”

I waited a little longer. Then I said, “My son really looks up to you… he talks about you ALL THE TIME,” I added with emphasis.

“He does?” he said. How surprised I was to see a hint of flattery in his eyes. Then he looked down blushing and said, “I never knew that.”

“He does,” I affirmed. Then I added, “You know, he’s kind of little, compared to the other kids in your class.”

The kid nodded his head.

“So, why don’t you watch out for him, you know, keep him safe around all these big kids. He’d really like that if you did that for him… because you are pretty big and strong yourself.”

“OK,” he said. “I can do that.”

“OK, it’s a deal,” I said.

After school my son was quick to give me a report.

“Mom! We’re friends now. You don’t need to talk to the teacher anymore. He says we’re friends!”

Cool, I thought.

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites

Filed under: boy, parenting |