Today, when I was walking to pick up Monkey from school, another mom stopped me and wanted to tell me a story about him. “I know I’d want to know if it was my son,” she said. I braced myself a bit, hoping it wasn’t one of those scenarios E and I talk about once in a while. (“If my kid was [smoking pot, sneaking out, etc.], I’d want to know.”)
Her kiddo, D, is a new student at their elementary. (He started the school year here, but this is his first year at this school and in this town.) Apparently, from Day One, several kids in the class picked on D, and he went home crying nearly every day. Kids would pick on him, push him, call him names, and hide his things. Kids can be so freakin’ cruel. Things escalated, with the kids egging each other on. This woman said that on one day in particular, one of the kids took D’s back pack and shoved it into the trash can. Several kids crowded around, laughing. Each time D advanced to try to get his backpack out of the trash, the mean kid would push or trip him. D told his mother that during the whole encounter, Monkey was sitting at his desk reading. Then D saw Monkey stand up and walk across the classroom. He walked up to the mean kid and told him, “That’s enough. No more. Give him his backpack, and leave him alone. ” D told his mother that Monkey “didn’t even have to yell.” He stood there until the backpack was returned. Then he just went back to his desk to read. (That’s Monkey… always reading!) D’s mom said that that was the last day anyone in the class picked on her son. She’d already thanked Monkey several months ago, but wanted to be sure that she told me because she figured Monkey wouldn’t tell us about it himself.
It’s days like this that make parenthood (and all the sleepless nights, trips to the emergency room, etc.) worth it.
*simon is a literary character that has always reminded me of monkey
