Get this. GET THIS. Unbeknownst (I had to look up the spelling on that one) to me, the “special seat” I had asked the driver to put Mason in was RIGHT NEXT TO THE BULLY. SAME SEAT. I didn’t know this at the time, because I didn’t know what bully looked like. But Mason got off the bus in the afternoon and I asked him about his day and the bus rides. And he confirmed that it was the bully he sat next to in the morning. Can you believe it?
Here’s how it went down. Mason was going to get on the school bus, and was totally fine. On his way up the stairs, he started freaking out and started running back home. I ran after him, talked to him and he was nervous about the bully. Apparently the bully was right there, peeping over the seat and gave Mason quite a look. I talked to him and told him nothing would happen to him. I walked with him to the bus, and I got halfway on (as not to embarrass Mason) and asked the bus driver if there was a “special seat” just for Mason. And that’s when he put Mason RIGHT NEXT to the bully.
I’m sorry. Where is this lack of communication coming from? Apparently we’re not all on the same page. And apparently some of us are not the sharpest tools in the shed. Who does that?
That afternoon, right after we got home, I called the principal. We chatted and she said that was completely unacceptable and that she would be calling the trans. director immediately. I assured her that if I needed to contact someone on my end, I was perfectly happy to do so. And I told her that Mason wouldn’t be bullied off of the school bus. That this kid needed to be kicked off before Mason would stop riding it. She assured me she’d take care of it.
So now I wait and see what happens. Do I say something to the bus driver this morning? I don’t want to cause more anxiety or embarrassment for Mason, but I gotta stick up for my kid when <obviously> the bus driver won’t. Do I spell it out for him? I’m at a loss for what to do this morning. And unfortunately Brett is out of town, otherwise he’d be dealing with it for me. I’m not a good confrontational person. That’s why I hire advocates and attorneys. Just kidding. <kind of>
I despise that word. And, I was (and am) dreading Emma ever being on the receiving end of it. I was surprised when Mason came home and told me of getting bullied on the school bus. Last week got off the bus on Thursday and was very upset. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me that a boy on the bus told him he had a pocket knife. According to Mason, this boy had a pocket knife, was going to “stab Mason”, and that Mason would be “gone forever.” I was baffled. I was actually almost in disbelief. First of all, who says this to a kindergartener? And secondly, if you’ve met Mason, you know he has the kindest heart ever. Ever.
I talked Mason through it. Told him that nothing like that would ever happen to him. This kid was a bully and he was picking on Mason. I calmed Mason down. I took all the information that he remembered and wrote it down. And then I had to just think about it. I had to process it in my own head. I’m not sure what my deal is, but I can’t process events like that quickly. It takes time for things like this to sink in. We went about our day with homework and baths, the same routine. In the evening, I was able to sit down with the piece of paper that had the details. And I started writing. I emailed the teacher, principal, director of transportation, and cc’d my advocate for good measure. I knew they would take this very seriously, and I needed them to know that we were taking this very seriously.
I got an email from the principal that night reassuring me that they would be looking into this. Come Friday, I found out that the principal talked to Mason (who was definitely a bit nervous going into the principal’s office!) and Mason pointed the boy out, and watched video of the school bus. Side note- so happy they have video on school buses now, but how sad that it’s come to that, right? Mason was sitting in the front of the school bus so we actually couldn’t see him or the boy in the video. She did mention that she saw other disturbing things on the video…standing up, switching seats, throwing things, etc. I’m glad she saw this as our bus driver isn’t as strict as I would like to see him.
The director of transportation emailed later on Friday and said that he spoke with the bus driver who didn’t hear anything. And also corrected any behaviors that don’t fall in place with transportation procedures. I certainly hope so.
I emailed the principal again today to follow up. I asked if the boy in question had been called to speak with her, questioned about the incident, or confessed to anything. I am awaiting a response.
I hate bullying. I severely dislike bullies. They make me mad. No one has the right to make my child/children feel scared or threatened. And it’s important to me, for Mason, that he sees that negative behaviors will yield negative consequences. I’m so proud of Mason for telling me what happened. And very proud of how brave he was to talk to the principal. Our principal is wonderful, as is Mason’s teacher. However, for a 5 year old, the principal’s office can be daunting!
I am so excited to share with you a post that my dear friend, Sarah, wrote on her own LiveJournal blog. Sarah is someone I’ve known now for almost 6 years. Like Emma, she has Optic Nerve Hypoplasia, as well as a few other diagnoses. Sarah is my age, and is living completely independent. She has just recently gone back to school (mind you, she has a Master’s in agriculture) to get a degree in psychology. I really got to know Sarah better when I met her in person 1 ½ years ago when the American Council of the Blind hosted it’s convention in Phoenix. I had the privilege of picking Sarah and Fargo (her adorable guide dog) up at the airport, eating lunch out, and taking her to the hotel. I admire Sarah for so many reasons. Her strength is unbelievable. She’s funny. She’s completely honest, and she doesn’t mince words. She is the complete inspiration for me and how I raise Emma. Sarah’s mom did a fantastic job. And Sarah is doing a remarkable job as well, given her disabilities and the obstacles she faces.
Her latest post is about bullying…a topic near and dear to my heart. Please read her story and absorb it all in. Her words are powerful.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.
Blind baby.
Bat.
Four eyes.
Retard.
Blind bitch.
Freak of nature.
Freak.
Freak.
The words echo in my head. Memories of the past, like flags flapping in the wind which I can hear, and which serve as reminders of various occasions. I am scarred deeply from the taunts of other children. I learned to fight back, to scream, to strike out, to tell adults, but none of it ever did any good. I was just a freak anyway. I couldn’t see where the kids were coming from half the time, but I tried to face them, and yell taunts back, telling them they were ignorant and using words far too complex for my tiny self.
The teasing started when I was three-years-old. It’s how I learned I was different from other kids. Before pre-school I had no idea that I wasn’t like other people. I learned fast. I was different and it was not a good difference.
Taunting continued through my years of school. My mother would try to soothe my worries each night, giving me ammunition to spit back at the bullies. My brother would threaten to beat the other kids up if he ever heard them teasing me, or saw them picking on me.
By junior high the teasing was so bad that every morning before school I was physically ill. My stomach would cramp violently and I would be sick. I was so different from the other kids from my blindness to my as yet undiagnosed aspergers’ syndrome. I remember running into our backyard and clamping my hands onto one of our raised flower beds, as I sat upon it, tears streaming down my face, my words pleas to stay home.
Even the teachers weren’t always nice to me. I have this perseverative behavior of tapping something on my face. I would commonly use a pen or pencil because they were available. This was calming and I would do it when I was thinking. A teacher once called me before the class and demonstrated what I did and told me it looked stupid and she better not see me do it again. I tried to keep such behavior to myself at home, where my parents allowed me to do it alone, and not in public, but sometimes I would become overwhelmed and out the behavior would come. Teachers always pointed out the dark spots on my nose from trying to write close to my face with a dark pen, or soft leaded artists pencil as well. It just added to the kids who made fun of me for basically kissing my books as I tried to hold the large print editions near my face for close inspection.
By high school I was using a long white cane for mobility. Most kids started to shun me because of it. My closest friends even acted awkward around it at first, not knowing what to expect, but they overcame it quickly and treated me normally. Only one friend never changed in how she viewed me.
High school was just more of the same though. I had few friends and the school was larger which increased the amount of bullies. I would cut class and go to the agricultural area of the campus and play with the animals, or to the library to read audio books, or just chill. I felt alone, and I began to realize that I really was a freak because I wasn’t like the other kids. When they hid my cane one day while I was busy cleaning out rabbit cages in the school’s barn, I finally cried when I went to go to my next class, unable to find my way there. I groped through the spider webs in the barn’s corners, and tripped over pieces of equipment, but I finally did find my cane, and boy was I ever mad, even through my sorrow for being a freak. I wanted to get even, but knew I couldn’t.
It was the first time in my life that I just really wanted to die. Depression over came me, but I told no one and went about my days. I didn’t reach out to anyone, because I didn’t want adults to worry, and wasn’t sure what my friends would say. I stopped going to school when I fell ill because of a kidney infection. I was very weak. When I recovered it was easier just to stay home. School was a living hell. My mother knew that I wasn’t thriving with the other kids torturing me, so she seldom forced me to go to school.
As a result, one day the truant officer came to our house. She was a neighbor of ours. My mother greeted her warmly and offered her a cup of tea. She was all serious though, and informed us that she was visiting on business. Basically everything was laid out on the line. I either had to return to school or they were going to kick me out. I didn’t care. Let them kick me out, I thought, happily.
It was decided that I would transfer to the alternative high school. It was known for having gang bangers, teen mothers, drug addicts, and kids who were in trouble with the law. I didn’t know how I’d hold up against all of them, but I did know that it was fewer hours every day, and it had an unstructured format, so I could work at my own pace and help plan some of my studies. That part of it was right up my alley.
On my first day I was terrified. My mother dropped me off and I felt like I was back at pre-school with my mom leaving me for the first time. After a few hours I started to relax. The teachers were addressed by their first names. We had time cards we had to have stamped to prove we were in class, and it was up to us to show up. Homework was a privilege we could only earn by participating in class. The more work we got done the sooner we could graduate.
The best part, was from the moment I set foot on campus the other kids were welcoming. They didn’t ask questions about my blindness. It was a given that I couldn’t see. It was just another difference, like they had differences, and I was respected for it. The other kids talked to me about other subjects, normal subjects, and I felt like I was part of the whole.
A year after I had been at the alternative high school a new student started attending classes. He stepped in front of me one day, my cane making contact with him. He opened his mouth and started to chastise me for hitting him with my cane, even though he had purposefully stepped in front of me, and in a flash he was surrounded by a group of guys. They told him that no one made fun of me. They laid it down like a rule and threatened to mess him up if he tried it again. He got really scared, and started spouting apologies.
That was the only teasing I ever faced at that school.
I made friends with pot heads, teen mothers, kids who were on probation, a guy who was openly gay and sometimes cross dressed, and kids who were in a gang outside of school. Who would have thought I would have earned respect from a bunch of misfits. Who would have thought the teasing had ended. I felt less and less like a freak.
I went on to graduate first in my class, and went to college. I never would have done it without the support from those teachers and students. At the same time, I’d not be who I am today without the bullying. All of it combined has made me the person I am today.
While sticks and stones won’t break my bones, names will certainly hurt me. I have deep scars from being called horrible things in my formative years. It was hard to develop a sense of self in my teen years when I was so conflicted between what I knew what was true of myself, and what others were calling me. Now that I know who I am, I just look back on it like another chapter in my life. I am stronger for what I was made to endure.
This video infuriates me. But that anger that I feel compels me to do something more. To work harder to spread our message. I am so sad for this student that had to deal with an asshole like this teacher. And how this teacher is even employed is beyond me. Take a look at this video and let me know what you think.
Infuriated like me? Compelled to do something? Spread the word. Share the video, share the blog, share the story. Shop! (okay, shameless plug) What can you do to help?
