My son was bullied yesterday. By another toddler. At the playground right around the corner from our home — where we play every day. The other kid, only two months older than Roy, first dumped a shovel-full of sand and gravel on Roy's head. His mom, who was nearby, tried to respond appropriately — she picked him up and took him away telling him that was not ok, etc.
Roy just stood there. Looking scared and sad.
I can't express the terrible feeling i have now, writing these words. The feeling i had at that moment. The feeling i've had ever since. It's just a fucking evil, horrible pain in my heart. I can't bear to let myself feel it for long. It will paralyze me if i don't fight it.
I tried to comfort Roy. I hugged and kissed him. I told him that was a very mean thing that other boy did to him. I tried to brush dirt and gravel out of his hair (there was too much).
"Dirt." He said. Pointing his little index finger at his beautiful head, with his beautiful lips in a little frown.
I am dying and killing monsters on a battlefield in my mind. I am calm, fucking psychotically calm, on the outside.
"I know," I say. "Dirt." "That was mean."
Borrowing the language of the "Safe Spaces" program, which i've only heard of through Roy's (awesome) daycare provider, i tell Roy: "That was not safe."
"Dirt." He said.
A few minutes later, after having made a gesture of apology (a gentle hand on Roy’s face) under the focussed direction of his mom, the same kid walked past Roy and pushed him. To the ground.
I am tearing flesh from the bones of burning demons in a volcano of pure evil. I am vomiting oceans of blood and crushing my skull with my fists.
I am calm.
The other boy’s mother removes the aggressor. This apparently incorrigible repeat offender. She carries him home. She is telling him he can’t play anymore, etc.
My son is silent.
Or i'm deaf.
~~~
Prior to all this i had been describing — to the bully's mom — some of the insights i’ve gained into childhood aggression through a DVD (Aggression in Young Children: The Interactive Guide to Observing, Understanding and Intervening) based on research by Professors Richard E. Tremblay and Jean Gervais (more info here). Is this irony?
~~~
Roy woke up in the night, upset. I went to him, as i always do because i’m a much lighter sleeper than Sara. But Roy wanted her. He needed her, not me.
I’m cold and scared. I need her too.
Before going back to bed, i stare at a picture of him, taken on our way back from the park. Does he look at me differently now?
I’m trying to hold on… to something… hope.
But it’s slipping: I’ve failed to protect him. My son! This world is full of hurt and unfairness and cruelty sometimes and i can’t keep it from affecting him... Or me.
(I was supposed to change the world and make everything right before this could happen!)
I had evil, violent nightmares. All night.
Oh, God… gods… anyone. What are we going to do?
