Fragile

Reading a topic on a parenting website: What do I do about a teacher bullying my child?

A potential minefield of drama waiting to be entered. We all know as parents we can be overprotective of our little darlings, we all are familiar with that lioness roaring from within when one of our cubs is unhappy.

But seriously, if your child was being bullied (and I do not use that term lightly) by a teacher what would you do? If you had watched the reaction of other teachers at other complaints, and that pack mentality scared you, what steps would you take?

If the principal told you "Be prepared, if you follow through this will be bigger than Ben Hur..." would you still take action? Especially if they were someone whose opinion you trusted?

If you thought your child was resilient, they seemed to be coping, there was only to the end of the year to get through, they nor their sibling was prepared to consider changing schools, would you let it ride?

Would you?

And if that year of being held up to ridicule, being belittled, having the teacher lead the other children in actions somewhat resembling Lord of the Flies, if that then changed your kid into a fearful, anxious, angry child, what could you do, how would you feel?

These are people we entrust with our children's well being...

Scared, fragile, damaged. Humpty Dumpty was never put together again. EVER.

FYBF - You Never Know What Lurks Behind.

People amaze me. Not only do you have incredible generousity and kindness, you also witness absolute nastiness and vile behaviour. One minute you marvel at the noble unselfishness of strangers, the next you are doubled over in pain at a vicious offensive from an acquaintance or even more painful, a supposed friend. As adults these high-school games and attacks are meant to be behind us. But they are not.

There are two reasons for this in my point of view.

Firstly, if you have been the victim of such an attack in your lifetime it lingers. It settles like a hidden wound deep in your psyche, waiting to resurface and leak bad memory pus all over your present. Some of the time this colours your interpretation of the written word, or even real life conversations leading you to either:

(a) go on the offensive yourself

or

(b) curl up in a ball reliving the horrific experiences of the past in the present day.

Secondly, life is hard in today's world. The "I want" generation is now finding keeping up with the Edelstein's  (for the Joneses have long dropped down the social ladder) nearly impossible. People are unhappy with life, with the circumstances they have to live within (damn you GFC), and the most sad, with themselves. It is not only a desire for themselves, they yearn for their children to have more, to be accepted and fit in. Everyone wants to be popular, but for some the desire brings forth jealousy which creates spiteful, childish behaviour. They resort to the patterns of youth, never seeming to have gained the wisdom from growing up.

Which one am I? I think I fall into group one. Both sections. Reading Courtney's brave post brought forward some really bad memories from my school days. Isn't that sad - these days are over thirty years back and yet can be relived in a flash. It is a part of me I always remain aware of, I need to fight to keep it under control when looking at the next generation. I have to realise my experiences and the fights of my childhood are not theirs or their reality. Take a deep breath, step back and soothe the hidden black panther uncoiling itself from slumber.

I guess underlying all this is a message. You never know what is hiding behind a smile. People can mask pain really effectively and the cries of "I had no idea" are fruitless when it is too late to rescind an action.

This is my FYBF. A little late because I just couldn't bring myself to finish it last night.







And to cheat a little I am adding my Weekend Rewind into this post. October was a terribly hard month last year. It was the month I lost my mother, Wise Woman. Reading back through my posts there were two I thought about adding. One poignant and probably quite appropriate given the topic of this post, the other a joyous memory of my childhood and why I believe in myself. Because she did, always. So I chose the second.