Bullies on the Beach
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| My boys on Minot Beach |
Bullying. If you talk to people either they have been the subject of bullying or were a bully themselves. In certain cases, I’m sure we’ve all been on both sides whether we’ve meant to be or not.
John was bullied, I think, during his first year of preschool. He didn’t say much, but a mother can feel these things. I, myself, was bullied when I was five. Five, it seems so young, but it is true. I still remember the neighborhood kids’ hurtful words, “You’re stupid!” I was being put into a class called ‘readiness,’ a grade between kindergarten and first grade to help develop some skills before moving to first grade. I was born three months early and the teacher felt I needed to mature a bit more. The neighborhood kids turned this into me being stupid and I can still here their glee-filled sing-songy taunts. Words stick with you. After graduating from Mount Holyoke College Magna cum Laude and receiving my MA from Bristol in Film and Television Production, you would think I’d be quite secure in my own intelligence. I’ve heard other stories from friends who were bullied due to their weight during adolescents which resulted in eating disorders.
One week at John’s soccer game, a six year old was screaming, red faced, at another boy on how he wasn’t playing correctly. This is Scituate Youth Center Soccer and you’d think it was professional how he was treating the other child. The father, a coach, didn’t step in or reprimand his son. Perhaps, I was wrong that I didn’t say something. Is he learning this behavior at home? What can parents do to help?
My book club plans on reading Dear Bully. It is an anthology of 70 young adult writers discussing bullying. Included in this anthology is my friend, fellow book club member and writer, Melissa Schorr. I’m looking forward to reading the stories and discussing this further with book club. A portion of the proceeds of “Dear Bully” will be donated to Stomp Out Bullying.
Over the summer, we were at the beach and some ‘big’ kids were saying, “Oh, look at that baby!” Pointing and laughing at Conor. John, threw his hands on his hips and thrust out his chest and yelled over, “Hey! He’s no baby. He’s my little brother, Conor”. I was so proud. I hope that we can all learn from a little boy standing up for another. Words hurt. They can scar just as much as physical violence.
