Before I get into the nitty gritty of this post I need to give some background. My son just recently graduated from the special education bus to the big bus. This was something he wanted so badly and I was too nervous to let him. This year we decided, after prepping him with a few months of social stories and ensuring he could handle it, we could TRY it. He did great though. He made a bunch of friends and loved the independence of it. Months with no issues whatsoever. And he was incredibly proud of himself!
A few days ago my son walked off of the bus with an abnormally somber look on his face. Usually he skips off of the bus wearing a huge grin, excited to be home with the family. This day, however, was very different. When I locked eyes with him, my smile quickly faded. It was almost like there was an unspoken connection between his eyes and mine. I could tell something happened, something bad.
"Are you mad at me, Mom?" - The first thing he asked when he stepped off of the bus.
"No, why would you think I'm mad at you?"
"No reason."Hmmm... This was not what I was expecting. I was puzzled. Typically when he asks if I am mad at him it's because he is about to tell me something he did at school that he assumes I'd be upset about. We were walking by this point, and I noticed his cheek was red, oddly red, not the kind of red that happens when it's cold out or extremely hot. No, this shade of red could only happen by being hit... hit hard!
"Hey, what happened to your cheek?" I asked even though I already knew.
He looked up at me afraid, confused, "The kid on the bus punched me a lot, but I didn't cry. Are you mad Mom?"What? No! I'm not mad I'm furious! But not with my son, with this "kid" who put his hands on my child.
Maintaining my composure as best I could I began asking questions. Trying to get the full story before I called to speak with the school. He tends to leave out important facts that I have to dig for. The things he didn't think to mention showed me just how confused he was by this entire situation.
He's been the target of bullying for years, but until recently he didn't concern himself with what others said about him. He really didn't care. He did his own thing and paid them no attention. The past 2 years have been much harder on him. He cares now, sometimes too much, what others think of him. He's very concerned with having friends and is very deeply hurt when others are mean to him.
Long story short: He told me he sat beside someone new on the bus. The bus was full and the seats by his friends were all taken. The boy he sat beside was bigger than him, he described his hair color, his eyes, what he was wearing, but he forgot to ask his name. He said he really liked his hat, it was cool because it looked like a wolf head. He told me he asked him if he could see it. The boy put his fist inside of the hat and punched him straight in the eye with it. My son said he threatened to tell the bus driver and the boy hit him again, and again, and again. A total of 4 times. He had a goose egg on his forehead right under his hairline so it was easy to miss, his rosy red cheek, and the next day woke up with a blood shot and bruised eye.
When I asked him what he did after the boy hit him so many times he said he didn't do anything, He didn't cry because he was brave. He didn't tell the bus driver because he didn't want to get in trouble and get kicked off of the big bus.<--- This broke my heart. He didn't understand that sometimes kids are just mean, more than mean, they are cruel. He really thought he must have done something that would get him in trouble since the boy hit him. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that sometimes people hit others for no reason, and it is wrong!
I called the school, the principal basically swept it under the rug because it wasn't witnessed, it wasn't reported before getting off of the bus, and because of my son's communication difficulties she had a hard time pulling the story from him. This aspect of it is FAR from over. And that is a subject for another blog on another day.
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Here comes the controversial part: We told him he is never to allow someone to hit him. If someone puts their hands on him, we taught him to stand up for himself, to fight back. We explained if he ever hits someone first he will be in more trouble than he could ever imagine. But if someone hits him again, do not just sit there and take it. Do something!
I know! I know! Two wrongs don't make a right, we are teaching violence, blah, blah, whatever! I know we are supposed to teach our kids to tell an adult, to avoid areas where bullies hang out, to defend themselves with words, not actions... but how can we teach this to children when words are what they lack, when adults brush them off because they too don't understand what they are trying to say, when the bullies are in places they can't avoid? What then?
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Back to the story:
I wanted to do something special for him that weekend. Something to lift his spirits a bit. I invited 2 of his best friends over for a sleep over. They watched movies, played, ate a bunch of pizza and ice cream. The next day we all went to the local bounce house. At the bounce house I instructed the 3 boys to stick together and I tried to keep watch from a distance where my toddler was safely playing in the big kid free zone, but the massive inflatables blocked my view at times. He was with his friends though, in a safe environment, I wasn't worried.
They were having a blast! Randomly they would run up to me, drink some water or Gatorade, and get right back to playing.
I heard a commotion, but it didn't alarm me because at the bounce house everything is loud. Then I heard my son yell "Don't you ever put your hands on me!". My eyes and ears have become fine tuned to locate my boy in a matter of seconds, just another aspect of being the Mom of a Rainbow Rider. I grabbed my toddler and bolted in his direction. I got to the boys just in time to witness my son, with a busted lip, trying to assist a child, with an already bruising eye, off of the ground. The kid pushed my son's hand away and stood up on his own, he was FUMING, and he was big... bigger than my son, maybe about 3 or 4 years older. It was hard to tell. My son and his friends ran up to me and all began talking at once, really fast, trying to tell me what happened.
"Quiet! Everyone! You! Tell me what happened!" I pointed to my son's friend, we'll call him Ben. He is neuro-typical with the same honesty traits as my own son. I knew I would get the ENTIRE story quickly and accurately.
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I looked to my son and asked him if this was all true and he said it was...
And as much as some might judge me, this was one of my proudest moments as a mother. You may not agree, you may not understand it, and you may not like it... but I don't expect anyone to.
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