Sympathy for a Bully
My wife texted me at work: “Ben got beat up today (name changed to protect the not-so-innocent). The principal called to say it's being dealt with.”
I lost all attention on what I was doing. I could only reply “Who was it?”
I wasn’t curious. I was furious. I wanted to know exactly who it was because I wanted to hunt him down and give him a few choice words. I wanted to know who his parents were so I could lay into them next. Then I wanted to know exactly how the principal was dealing with it. Most of all, I wanted to know if Ben was okay.
My heart sank thinking about the possible scenarios. I imagined a large 6th grader (Ben is in 5th), picking on him non-stop through the week and finally taking it out on him at recess.
More than my concern for his physical well-being, I was sickened by how I imagined he felt emotionally. This feeling brought back a flood of memories of my youth as a small, unpopular and nerdy kid being constantly hit in the arm on the way to class and called names. I wanted to do something, but mostly I wanted to go home. To sit with Ben. To hold his head and tell him how sorry I was this happened and how terrible this other kid was. I wanted to destroy the kid in front of Ben to remind him he’s safe as long as I’m around. I started packing my things to run to my son’s rescue.
But first, I called my wife. “Is Ben okay?” This was followed by a slew of other questions ranging from “Don’t teachers monitor recess?” to "Who is this punk and where does he live?"
After a longer conversation, I decided not to leave work. The situation was less severe than the original text suggested. He wasn’t hurt physically, and it sounded like there was more to the story. Of course there was.
Apparently a large group of boys had gotten into a frenzy on the playground, and Ben just happened to get in the middle of it. I understood the context, because I had lived it so many times over thirty years ago. Mobs of prepubescent boys aren’t uncommon, and they always have the same players. They’re mostly made up of onlookers and the occasional thug looking for an excuse to flex. Most don’t have any skin in the game, but they love a bit of drama so they’re quickly drawn in.
Then there are the ringleaders, usually two boys who are the most vocal and get things started. One of them tends to be the true instigator, but it takes two to get things off the ground.
Then there’s the one who is equally vocal but tries to serve as a moderator of sorts. He tends to be one of the more independent boys who marches to his own drum. He’s sensitive to injustices, and doesn’t always think through the words that come out of his mouths or the consequences of said words.
That was Ben.
He saw the idiocy of the argument and chose to step in. I have no doubt the ringleader didn't appreciate most of what came out of Ben's mouth, so he became an easy target. With a hoodie pulled over his head and a few quick punches to the stomach and face, his rant was brought to a stop. I imagine the whole group erupted at this, and a few of them went to report the incident. It was over, and the ringleader was off to the principal’s office.
When I got home a couple hours later, I expected a quiet, somber house. Instead it was business as usual. The kids were all playing, and my wife was finishing up dinner. I went to Ben's room to see how he was doing. He was on a device, looked up and gave me the usual “Hi, Dad.” I saw no marks on his face. No tears in his eyes. Not even a look of despair on his face. He was a bit quieter and more serious looking than usual, but there were no physical signs of damage.
We sat and talked for a while. He recounted the events I’d already heard, elaborating a bit with the classic preteen boy flair. Ben was the hero, and the ringleader was the villain. Totally black and white. It was almost humorous. Except I was sure there was more going on inside. He was attacked, and that still made my blood boil. Nobody lays a hand on my kid without losing it. I wanted revenge. I wanted Ben to tell be how inhuman this kid was so I could hate him even more.
The more details he shared, my image of the ringleader changed. He wasn’t this lumbering giant shaking kids down for their lunch money. He was a scrappy kid, a head shorter than Ben. I hurt for my son more when I learned this. I knew the shame that came with taking punches from a smaller kid and not fighting back.
I told him I was proud that he stood up to the situation. I reminded him that we need to be careful intervening because of how things can get out of control. I didn’t believe my advice. I was proud of him for standing up for what was right, even if it was just playground politics.
I told him I was proud that he didn’t fight back, even though he could. I mostly believed this. A large part of me wanted to give him the opposite advice. To tell him that he should have laid into this kid and put him in his place. Punks like that need taught a lesson, and you were just the man for the job. I’m glad that didn’t happen, but part of me really wanted it to.
I told him the kid was an idiot for doing what he did. Ben agreed and had a few other choice names for him. I stopped him and reminded him that he was just another kid with a life we don’t know about. The whole “hurt people hurt people” speech. Yes, I did believe that part. We didn’t know a thing about this kid. The more I heard of the story, the more I wondered what got this kid so worked up that he thought wailing on someone out in the open at school was a good idea. A couple hours ago I had envisioned a monster who attacked my baby and was worthy of life in prison. Now I just felt sad for him. As much as I ached at the day my son had experienced, I ached as much for this other kid. Was he even having a conversation with his parents right now? Did his parents even care when they got the call from the school? Did they laugh it off? Did they even say anything to their son? This wasn’t his first rodeo, so heart-to-heart conversations like this one likely just didn’t happen.
The kid’s a bully, no doubt. But he’s not a monster. I went from wanting to hurt him to wanting to help him. I saw my own son in him. I saw someone who just needed a little encouragement, some boundaries, and a safe place to share what’s on his mind. That’s all it took for my son to get through this, and it would go a long way for the ringleader to get through it too. Unfortunately, the cycle will continue until the right adult makes the right connection with him. Who knows, maybe it’s me.
In the end, the ringleader ended up getting a couple days in-school suspension. After his sentence was up, he passed by Ben in the hallway. He apparently didn’t learn his lesson, because the first thing out of his mouth was, “Hey, Ben. Remember that time I beat the crap out of you? That was hilarious."
Ben’s reply? "Yeah. Remember that time you got suspended. That was even more hilarious.” Apparently he still has some lessons to learn too.
We all do.
