Thank you for bullying our kid. I mean it, Little Bully. Your tiny acts of brutality have taught us how much we need to teach our kid. So, thanks, Bully, for waking us up to just how violent, unempathetic, sneaky and intimidating even brand new humans are capable of being.
Even though you are not yet 5, thanks for teaching us that an adorable smile is not to be immediately trusted. When we first met, you seemed smart, well-adjusted and your mom was so friendly, that it was easy to not watch Grace for a minute.
Noticing the first time you hit her, you were given the benefit of the doubt. You’re school buddies. Kids get physical, are clueless about boundaries and accidents happen. Maybe you just stuck your arm out as she walked by and you hit her by accident. Was I hoping that was the truth for you or for me? I didn’t want to believe you could be that mean to someone you profess to adore. But no, you were targeting her to see if she would tell on you or fight back. Since she has never been bullied, she was baffled and didn’t react. Then when you tackled her, she collapsed and didn’t utter a sound. Worst of all, neither did I.
That’s how powerful shock and denial are -- especially in people who have been bullied by bosses, parents, uncles, grandparents, teachers, boyfriends, husbands and even close friends. We hope what we are seeing or hearing is not what’s happening. We try to mutate physical viciousness or verbal inappropriateness into a misunderstanding or a joke or we just shut down, close up and let it happen until it stops and we can escape — all the while trying to hide what’s happening because in our shame and confusion, we don’t want to embarrass or confront the authority figure/bully. Why make the bullying worse when all we want is for it to stop ? Sadly, we don’t know how to stand up for ourselves, and only make it easier to be a doormat the next time it happens.
At first I thought this was a teachable moment for Grace. She let you hit her, knock her down and lie on top of her and she never made a sound or resisted. But yet again, teachable moments always suck because they are always for me. It shames me to admit my first reaction was ‘What you are seeing isn’t really what’s happening. Don’t cause more trouble.’ So, thanks for forcing me to find my voice to stand up for someone else.
While your mother tried to charm me into hosting you for a sleepover, you knocked Grace down, laid on top of her, elbowed her face into the dirt, and pried her fingers apart. After freezing (a lifelong response to confrontation), I silently pulled Grace out from under you, blood pounding in my ears.
Between you and me, LB, more upsetting was your mother’s reaction. When you hollered, without shame or making eye contact, that you just wanted what Grace had, a stupid little green seed that she found and was treasuring, your mother offered that you were saving Grace by not letting her choke on the seed. But Little Bully, your mother’s attempt to ennoble your abuse, is doing no one any favors, especially you.
LB, maybe someone bullies you. Maybe someone doesn’t pay the right kind of attention to you. Perhaps hearing your mother vent about your absentee father makes you feel angry and powerless. Maybe no one is picking up on your signals for help. So, thanks Little Bully, thanks for letting me know that something powerful is troubling you enough to treat smaller children with such casual, unabashed meanness. Little Bully, you need help more than you need punishment.
Since I was stunned all I managed in reply was, “Grace wasn’t putting that in her mouth, so I’d like her to have it back.” In response, you threw it as far as you could, so no one could have it. As your mom meekly asked you to apologize and find another seed for Grace to play with, I stormed off with Grace, dusting off her dirty face, my hands shaking with fury. Grace watched me clean her, but I could barely meet her gaze.
Thanks to you, LB, this Prius driving, kombucha drinking, vegetarian Old Mom libtard is teaching her little girl what other people can and cannot do to her. We’ve taught her to say NO loudly and call out wrongdoing while it is happening, either to herself or to someone else. Failing that, Grace will bite, kick, punch and push if she has to. I am not raising a girl to be yet another victim. I am raising a compassionate citizen, a fighter, a survivor. We are teaching her to respect and protect her own, and others, sovereignty, something which is sadly needed more now than ever before. These lessons are coming faster and quicker than I first imagined they would, but that’s the speed of life nowadays.
Sure, no one was really hurt. I seethed for days but Grace forgot about the incident in about 20 minutes. You probably don’t even remember doing this, or you have already revised the truth so that you were the victim and Grace was the oppressor. Your mom probably didn’t even talk to you about what you did. There was zero impact in your lives. For now. But the chickens, or in your case, the chicks will grow, peck, cackle and come home to roost.
Finally, LB, thanks for letting me know that the days of passivity in the face of flagrant bullying are over. If it takes a village to raise a child, I’m your worst village nightmare. You will NEVER treat another child badly, not while I’m around. And if Grace ever bullies or tries to shame or harm a person or an earthworm, I will be on her in a New York minute. So, thank you for giving life to my heretofore comatose tiger mother.
Thanks to you, Grace will know what bullying looks like. Because I will teach her. I will teach her that bullies come in many costumes and many colors. Classmates, siblings, teachers, bosses, relatives, strangers, spouses, civic leaders, athletes, celebrities, Presidents. It is time, finally time, for all decent (and not so decent) people to finally and fully stand up to bullies as if our lives actually depend on it. Because it does.
