Yesterday Emma and I got our hair trimmed in the morning and then I met Jacob partway home from school and took him to get a cut. I dropped Jacob off at the house and then drove to meet Brenden partway home from school to get his cut.
As I came down the street I spotted my boy proudly donning his Longhorns jacket (thanks again Rosario...he loves it and wears it with pride). He had his camo cap on with the flaps over his ears and his scarf around his mouth. Then he stopped and turned to face the group of four behind him.....
I knew before I even pulled to a stop what was happening to him. It's the reason I HATE for him to walk home and would much rather he bike.
It's the reason I worry for him so much.
He was being picked on, teased, made fun of. There were two girls and two boys. The girls were laughing at him and the boys were calling him names. I pulled the van to a stop across the street from them. I gave those kids "the look" (you know, the one that said 'if you were my kid I'd spank that backside of yours for your ugliness and meanness") and motioned to Brenden to come to the van. The boys looked down to the sidewalk and didn't make eye contact with me anymore. Though they were slow to realize this momma bear was there to pick up the object of their tormenting, they did realize if they didn't stop I'd be out of that van and giving them a verbal tongue lashing in a heartbeat.
Not one to stir up messes with people I don't know, I make exceptions for bullies and would have gladly taken the kids to task and their parents, if necessary. It's a momma thing.
After Brenden got in the van we had a nice long review of our rules for bullies:
Don't engage them. That just encourages them to do it more.
Don't respond to their taunts. That just lets them know they got under your skin.
Don't stay on the same side of the street as them. One day one will get physical so distance is good.
I'm going to get Smooch to load some music to Brenden's phone so he can listen to music on the way home in the hopes he will be more distracted by the music than the horrid little punks that gravitate to him. I wish I would have thought to get him an mp3 player for Christmas.
I know he will always have an awkward gait. I know he will always be more comfortable in the way he chooses to dress and wear his clothes than I am (I've more than once referred to him as the Unibomber for the way he wears his hoodies). I know if he has a hat and scarf he is always going to try and hide in them like a mummy, making him more of a target. And I know that if anything in this world will bring out the worst in me, the cuss word-laden, angry, spitfire attitude side of me, bullying my child will. Not that I would cuss the kids out as much as my thoughts show the old me is still deep down inside of me.
It's been a rough week around here. My friend JoAnn died Monday, the stress of holiday gifts, money, and plans is taking a toll.
