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A Reader Writes In

June 17, 2011 by Sarah

Reader Robin Hanson wrote this comment to my post Tired, the ninth post in my series about combatting bullying at my son’s school:

Have you considered, economically, that it’s not viable, likely, nor perhaps even ethical for the school system to devote such a significant amount of resources to one “problem child”? While you insist that other students besides your son “Sam” are having issues similar to the ones that he’s facing, it is clear that either those children are not having problems as severe, or that their parents are simply not as proactive as you are.

Assuming, though, that a significant number of children are in a similar position as “Sam”, it seems likely that at least one of them would be as outspoken as you. Considering that you’ve given us no indication that this is the case, we’re led to believe that you and Sam are likely the only parent-child combination to be having issues of this magnitude, and that your delusions of commiseration are simply that: delusions.

While, on the surface, you’ve seemingly received quite a bit of “support” from the parents you’ve spoken to, it seems likely that they are merely expressing their support out of social obligation rather than out of actual unwavering commitment. Further, even if they are vaguely supportive of your ideas, it seems improbable that they will be as devoted as you are to an initiative that primarily benefits your child only.

Essentially, I would ask you this question: why is it the duty of the school, and of the taxpayers at large that fund it, including the parents you’ve attempted to “rally”, to devote so much time, effort, energy, money, and resources to such a small proportion of the population served by it (your son is only one child, after all)? The world doesn’t revolve around anybody in particular.

While individuality is a right, it comes, like all rights, with corresponding responsibilities. One of those corresponding responsibilities is to accept the consequences of your individuality, that others have their own individual natures that may come into conflict with yours.

There won’t always be a “mommy” or an institution to come to your son’s rescue, and it’s about time he realized it. Instead of attempting to corral an undeserved army to defend your son, why don’t you cut the cord and realize he needs to defend himself? If he doesn’t learn to fend off “bullying” (although I’d more accurately term it “a series of interpersonal disputes” in this case) now, when will he? Will you accompany him to college, the office, and the retirement home, too?

Sometimes people conflict, and there are no institutional policies that can ever solve this. People who don’t like your son for whatever reason will never like him, regardless of whatever policies you draft or punishments you dish out. In light of this, your son has really two options:

1. He can grow a thicker skin, a quicker tongue, and faster fists, learning to advocate for himself instead of having mommy fight his battles.

2. He can stop acting so femininely, lose weight, be less conspicuous about his illnesses, and learn who is actually interested in hearing about his obscure hobbies.

This is a dog eat dog world, where you either learn to blend in or, if you must stand out, stand out on your own two feet, not being propped up by the rudimentary defenses of an overprotective mother. The method that you’re working at will only waste your time, and make you look asinine and obstructionist to society at large. The response you’re choosing to your son’s “bullying” is an instinctual one, understandable, but not logical. As much as we’d like to, we can’t bulldoze down everything about the world that we don’t like.

Now, I hope you don’t take this as a personal attack. As an unconventional man myself (a pariah in the violent world of economics, no less), this is advice that I deliver from experience, not condescension. Your son sounds like a perfectly lovely boy, who I’d have no qualm about associating with, but, even still, he is, like everyone, bound to have his detractors, detractors who you, try as you might, will never be able to shield him from.

Thus, it is better for you to instead endow him with the personal, unbreakable shield of a good self-esteem, which comes not from having the world molded to your preference by an external force, but rather by having the power to mold the world yourself. Consider it.

“Give a man a fish, and you will feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you will feed him for life.”

P.S.: I, myself, have used the “Atkins diet” to much success. I recommend it. While you have suggested variously throughout this blog that diets are mostly ineffective, and often damaging to one’s self-esteem, I found the situation to be the exact opposite. Overcoming one’s natural inclination to overeat is liberating and esteem boosting, and the physical effects were demonstrable.

Point is, you may wish to consider that “Sam”‘s weight issues are health issues, not just social ones. Being “the fat kid” is easily preventable with a little bit of self-control, diet, and exercise.

Have “Sam” put down the video games and go for a jog, perhaps? I know it doesn’t seem that easy, but as someone who has struggled with weight issues, it truly is usually just a lack of willpower that keeps the pounds from flying off. You have to take control at some point, so why not today?

Read tireless anti-bullying crusader Carrie Goldman’s response to Robin Hanson’s comment here.

10: Trust

June 15, 2011 by Sarah

This is the final post in a series about my son’s recent experience with bullying at school.

After heartbreak, frustration, a friend’s inspiration, and talks with other parents and the school counselor, we got busy. We met with the principal of the lower school. We met with the principal of the middle school. We met with the head of school. We met with a dozen parents in the school counselor’s office. And then we made a plan with those parents to host a meeting with the entire lower school—all 280 families—facilitated by the school counselor, to talk about what we wanted the school to do about bullying. We set a date, prepared an all-school invitation, secured a location, planned the agenda.

And then things started to shift.

Before we could hold that all-school meeting, the administration asked to meet with us. Ian and I were nervous, beset with that old sent-to-the-principal feeling. We reminded ourselves of all of our reasons for holding the parent meeting, our justifications, our rights. We prepared for a fight.

But instead of a fight, the administration offered contrition. We’re sorry, they said. Sam should have never have had to suffer at the hands of his classmates, they said. We realize it’s our responsibility to keep Sam safe, they said, and we have failed.

They told us that it is their job to make sure that each child who comes to the school is supported, and sees themselves reflected in the school. They told us that they had fallen down on that job, and wanted to make things better.

And then they outlined their plans for immediate, intermediate, and long-term bullying prevention work. The plans include hiring a new school counselor with anti-bullying experience, making bullying prevention the couselor’s top priority, launching a preventative anti-bullying curriculum in all grades, starting LGBT diversity training, and engaging parents through a parent/faculty/administration committee and teacher/parent education workshops.

This was so not the reaction we were expecting.

Then they asked us not to hold that parent meeting we’d been planning. We hear you, they said; making clear that it would not be helpful to have hundreds of parents telling them what they already knew. And though we’d been prepared to justify our reasons for moving forward with the meeting, we agreed. It didn’t make sense to antagonize people who were doing just about exactly what we’d asked them to do.

As we left I said to Ian, “Wow, I feel bad that we were amassing a parent army when they were planning to do all this work.”

Ian said, “Why do you think they’re planning to do all this work?”

Right. They’re doing this because the looming threat of hundreds of angry families got their attention. They realized that many parents care, and many children are facing the same issues Sam has been facing. And they seem to understand, at a fundamental level, that this work is essential to the wellbeing of their students. By broadening our focus from gender-specific diversity training to bullying in general, we’d engaged allies we hadn’t had before, and brought in people we never knew cared about LGBT issues. And our voices, together, cut through the mess of competing priorities that make up a school administrator’s life.

I am so immensely, entirely, deeply grateful to the parent group who gave this work the power it needed to become reality.

And so, although we had one plan, we made a different one. The new plan involves trust and optimism that the administration will follow through with their commitments. It involves faith, and a willingness to let go of our anger and frustration. Although, given our multi-year history of of problems for Sam, that faith is tempered with caution and the need to keep a close eye on what happens in the fall.

And our parent group waiting in the wings, watching.

But in the mean time, we’ve decided to trust.

9: Tired

June 1, 2011 by Sarah

This is the ninth post in a series about my son’s recent experience with bullying at school.

I am tired.

In the last month we have met three times with the school principal, twice with the head of school, four times with the school counselor, and once with an awesome group of parents. When not in meetings, we have had an hourly string of email conversations with anti-bullying trainers, teachers, and concerned parents at our school. Each meeting has to be carefully prepared for; each email painstakingly crafted. It takes time—time I used to dedicate to work, family, and watching old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Of course I want to make Sam’s school a safe place for him. Of course I want to build acceptance in the world for him and boys like him. But I did not anticipate how time consuming and emotionally draining this process would be.

I know she’s right, but that doesn’t keep me from being pissed off. As Christopher, one of my readers, pointed out in a comment on the fifth post in this series, the work I am doing should be the school’s job, not mine. And yet here I am—today, for example—consolidating editorial comments from 16 parents on an email to school administrators. And I’m reminded in every line of text that this quest for justice isn’t abstract, that it is about my child.

I complained to my husband Ian about how drained I feel, how this work is eating up my work time. His reply? This is your work. There is no more important work.

I know.

But I’m still tired.

A Reader Writes In

10: Trust

9: Tired

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