Were you a mean kid?

Not much to say tonight except that this poem makes me glad that bullying in school is finally getting some attention and teachers are being taught some techniques to deal with it. Of courses kids are getting this kind of info also and it is about time. I don't know why kids have to be so mean sometimes - it seems like a rite of passage for some. For other kids, the rite is being on the receiving end of cruelty, heartless torture and terrible loneliness. Parents would not believe how cruel their young children can be to a those who show any kind of weakness or display a behavior that can be interpreted as weakness.
Perhaps the ability to be cruel to another living being, person or animal, is inborn and resides deep within only to be awakened in a social environment such as school.Perhaps the bullies perceive their own weaknesses and are acting out ahead of any bad treatment that might be coming their way. Perhaps there are just some scared, abused kids who must abuse others in order to make sure their psyches survive. And perhaps some kids are just twisted and mean and dark through no fault of their parents or anyone else. They are what they are and no amount of teaching, role playing and interference technique will work with them. Many bullies grow out of it, but not all. Have you ever worked for a bully? Be honest, now - have you? Yes, they exist in the adult world too, using skills that were honed in school hallways and playgrounds all over the world.
Bullies of any age are hard to deal with until we take that first step to finding out their fears and move on to letting them know we see their weaknesses. My dad always said to stand up to a bully because bullies are just empty air and insecurities. In my experience, he was right on that. It is unfortunate that pain may be involved in deflating the bully: pain for you and for him or her. But deflate them we must in order to survive ourselves.
In this poem the tables are turned and the narrator learns what it is like to be on the other side of bullying.


Sins of the Father

by W.D. Ehrhart

Today my child came home from school in tears.
A classmate taunted her about her clothes,
and the other kids joined in, enough of them
to make her feel as if the fault was hers,
as if she can't fit in no matter what.
A decent child, lovely, bright, considerate.
It breaks my heart. It makes me want someone
to pay. It makes me think—O Christ, it makes
me think of things I haven't thought about
in years. How we nicknamed Barbara Hoffman
"Barn," walked behind her through the halls and mooed
like cows. We kept this up for years, and not
for any reason I could tell you now
or even then except that it was fun.
Or seemed like fun. The nights that Barbara
must have cried herself to sleep, the days
she must have dreaded getting up for school.
Or Suzanne Heider. We called her "Spider."
And we were certain Gareth Schultz was queer
and let him know it. Now there's nothing I
can do but stand outside my daughter's door
listening to her cry herself to sleep.

"Sins of the Father" by W.D. Ehrhart, from The Bodies Beneath the Table. © Adastra Press, 2010.