Bullying

I brought upon myself my first bully.

He was a moron and I told him so. He did not appreciate my evaluation of his intelligence and chased me through the neighborhood to fight me on every possible occasion. My last bit of revenge was to blow sand in his eye through a garden hose a couple of days before we moved. I've never seen him again. I'm sure he is warming a cell in some prison. Or maybe he grew up, got smart and is running a corporation somewhere.

I endured other bullies as I continued through school ... until, in seventh grade, I learned to fight back.

An organization now exists in which kids can anonymously report bullies. http://www.anonymoustips.com.

These people comprehend the impossibility of convincing kids to openly report to an adult that they are being bullied. I know for a fact I would never have gone to my teacher or principal to "tattle," no matter how miserable I was. But if I could have filed an anonymous report ... well, I just might have done so. I wonder if the taunts that still echo in the back of my mind today, might never have taken such hold of my pysche, nipped promptly in the bud.

A conversation

"Whatcha readin'?" She asked,kicking off Her sneakers and settling onto the chair across the room from me.

I tried in as simple and brief a manner as possible to explain that the book was about the "invention" of time. The concept of hours, minutes, etc.

She nodded, maybe caring, maybe not.

I read on for a few more minutes. Then I put the book away. I remembered what I had realized long ago -- every person is a story and while I could read my paper and ink book any time, far more precious is the story that one draws out from a living, breathing person in your presence.

It takes more work, granted. You have to actually listen. Come up with questions.

Already this evening I had had an unexpected, lengthy, but enjoyable conversation with a man I know as a colleague and acquaintance. Now, I thought, why not do the same with this almost-teen whom I know as an acquaintance at my church? We were both stuck in this room waiting on family members to finish with meetings.

She opened up unto me Her seventh grade world -- a world of teachers gruff and kind, of constant social jockeying, and of those notorious mean Girls that mystify guys like me who with all our might and mind want to believe that Girls just can't be like that.

"I'm not scared of 'em," She said. "If they hit me, I hit back. It's just a reflex. If they spread a rumor about me, I confront 'em."

"My Mom says, 'You won't get in trouble with me if you come home suspended for fighting -- if you didn't start it.'"

How quickly we forget, how hard it is to be a child!

Kids need recess!

Perhaps if enough parents, and those of us who are not parents but cherish children anyway, perhaps if enough of us raise our voices to a deafening roar, then the beans-for-brains people who are stripping away recess for children, will finally get the message:

KIDS NEED RECESS!

I shudder to think what would have happened to me if my entire childhood had been spent trapped inside a building. If I could not indulge my fidgets, if some overbearing adult had loomed over me 24/7, I would have lost my little mind.

I am far from alone in this sentiment.

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/02/23/the-benefits-of-playtime/#comments