Posted on 03/13/2024 4:32:30 PM PDT by Morgana
What makes you think the victim is White?
Where was the bus driver? That six year did not deserve any kind of physical assault but if he truly was the one papering the bus with the F word a little soap in his mouth won’t be amiss.
What kind of parenting do either of them have?
She seems to be Affy Murican. 5th grade can mean she is 11-12.
Paging Jane Goodall. . .
Effing feral beasts of kids. Unless the kid has some kind of serious disability, I blame the damned parents, incompetent, criminal scumbags.
And if the kid DOES have something like that, I blame the school system and those who run it for forcing this kid into contact with other kids.
I was bullied pretty fiercely when I was a kid. I was gawky and thin, always wore those black plastic glasses, which I believe, were bully magnets.
When I reached the age of 11-12, I really began to fight back because I was getting bigger, and after that, I didn’t get bullied much any more.
It caused me a lot of stress. When I was around eight, I had a kid a year older than me who waited for me every day when I walked to school. I dreaded the walk to school, and he was always there. He also had an airedale named Toby that would attack me as I walked by his house. So I had one eye out for the dog, and one for him. And he was almost always there.
Waiting.
Sometimes, he would just knock my books and lunch pay out of my hands, or whack me on the side of the head or kick me in the butt as I walked by. I remember often putting my lunchbox back together after the contents had been spilled onto the ground.
I would pick up the plaid thermos which had those replaceable glass insulator inserts into it, and would agitate it gently to hear the sad sound of the slurry of broken glass shards mixed into whatever my mother had placed in there for me.
She used to buy those glass thermos inserts three at a time (I think) and she would always admonish me when it came home broken and needed replacing. I never told her or anyone it was that kid, whose parents were kind of friends with my parents.
One of my brothers, who was a year older than me and the same age as the kid who picked on me while we lived there, had characterized himself at my wedding as he gave me the Best Man Toast as “The Freddy Kruger of my childhood”, which is not far from the truth.
But one day, in my very own front yard, that kid was holding me down by kneeling on top of me, and was doing that thing where he would hock up a big lugie and let it drip from his lips as they hovered over my face.
As I was pinioned to the ground by his weight, squirming and screeching but unable to break free from him, the disgusting glob of spit would descend slowly towards my face, then he would suck it back in and repeat the process. (I don’t recall ever having it land on my face...I probably blocked that out if it did!)
Funny thing was, I never knew this was a “thing” that kids did to other kids until I saw in a movie decades later. I always thought it was some special ritual developed only for me.
Well, that one day, as he was performing this form of torture, the string of spit going up and down, all of a sudden where his face was had been was replaced by blue sky and the branches of the tree above us.
My brother, who was a regular torturer of me, had come up behind the kid and, as a savior, had pulled him off of me and was beating the snot out of him. The kid never bothered me after that.
Years later, when my Freddie Kruger became one of my closest friends and I asked him about this incident, he sheepishly said something like “You were for ME to pick on, not some other kid.” He regrets it, but...that is part of growing up. He learned from his actions, and I learned from mine.
I am somehow in the mindset of being grateful for being bullied like that. I had to learn to stick up for myself, and also, it developed a deep dislike of seeing people bully others.
I have always wondered if, absent that part of my life, instead of being a sheep who turned into a sheepdog, I might have turned into a wolf instead, predating on other more vulnerable people than myself.
All in all, I fully accept being bullied as a constructive force in my life, instead of feeling victimized by it.
That is a great story and learning from those experiences is a valid way to grow.
Life is not fair, and can’t be made so.
It is a fallen world, and we are all in it.
This world is probably best viewed as a proving ground, in which we can find our way to God.
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