Bully

In general, I believe kids default to Good. Not good, as in "you cleaned your room all by yourself" good, but true Goodness, that which keeps them from torturing small animals or lighting their younger siblings' hair on fire. 

I didn't always believe that; there was a time when I'd have told you the opposite was true. Specifically, that time was the first few weeks of sixth grade, when I was informed by a grinning little bastard (whom I'll call Jeff T) that he and five of his friends were going to kick my ass after school, punishment for the crime of being the new kid, and a dorky one at that ("A-Fag", they called me, in their minds a clever play on my last name). What I remember was running. I told my teacher, who talked to the boys; I told my mom, who picked me up from school for several days; I remembering running across the field that lay between my school and my house. It was a straight shot, a couple hundred yards at most, and for several months I ran across that field when class let out, not daring to look back as that would slow me down and they would catch me and beat me to a bloody pulp. I ran as fast as fear would push me. 

We spent yesterday at the pool; our friends belong to a local country club, our boys are close, and we're often invited to hang out with them. The pool was busy; there are two pools at the club, and this one was reserved for the kids, a couple of feet deep, a bored teenaged lifeguard endlessly twirling her whistle around on its string. We bought a cheap inflatable air mattress for Lucas, and he was loving it - it was his pirate ship, then it was his surfboard, then it was his spaceship. Lucas and his air mattress attracted the attention of another boy, a stranger. The kid was Lucas' age, perhaps a bit older. He was brandishing a Super Soaker. At first, he just started spraying Lucas with water. Then he'd spray Lucas with water and take the air mattress from him - Lucas asked him to please stop. The kid grabbed it and took it - of course Lucas protested and took it back, but the kid didn't stop. After watching this a few times, I asked the kid to please stop taking Lucas' air mattress.

Then it escalated.

The kid continued to follow Lucas around, and kept grabbing the air mattress. "QUIT BEING A PUNK!", Lucas yelled (we've taught him that Not Being A Punk is something he must constantly strive for). Now the kid was adding something into the mix - he began hitting Lucas on the head with the Super Soaker. "Knock it off!", Lucas yelled. I walked over to the kid, and told him to stop with the hitting, looking for the kid's parents - I must be unusual in that I watch my kid like a hawk when he's in a large crowded swimming pool. I figured the kid's parents must be around, maybe they saw what was going on, and maybe they'd say something. I then told Lucas to just stay away from the kid - if he follows you, just go to another part of the pool. 

Lucas tried, but the kid wouldn't leave him alone. Again with the hitting, again with taking the air mattress, and laughing at Lucas whenever he told the kid to quit it. This went on for a half hour, maybe longer. Lucas would tell the kid to please stop, I told the kid AGAIN to please stop, Lucas would go to the other side of the pool, trying to get away from his tormentor, and that kid just kept at it, pushing Lucas off the air mattress and taking it, hitting Lucas with that fucking Super Soaker. My blood was up. I saw Lucas running across that field. Lucas took another shot to the head, and looked at me helplessly.

I looked Lucas in the eye, made a fist, punched the air, and nodded at him.

Lucas balled up his hand and punched the kid right in the mouth.

The kid looked stunned. So did Lucas. Then the kid began to wail. He got up out of the pool and ran off - the question of where his parents were was answered; they were down at the other pool, the grown-up pool, their kid out of sight and out of mind. I waved Lucas over to me. He began to cry. "You told me to hit him! I hurt him! I hurt that boy!"

I felt like I'd taken that punch.

That night, he and I talked about bullies, and hitting; I told him that I was wrong for telling him to punch that boy. I told him that the kid wasn't hurt; he was scared, and "maybe he was scared enough so that he won't pick on other kids like he picked on you". I told him that if he ever gets picked on by a bully he needs to tell us and his teachers. I told him about my particular bullies - and I told him how that all turned out, that eventually Jeff T and his accomplices and I became friends of a sort; they outgrew their need to terrorize their fellow students, and I grew into myself. But I also told him that it's OK to stand up for yourself, to defend yourself if you absolutely have to. What I thought, after he'd gone to sleep: I told him to hit another kid. But if he hadn't that kid would have kept hitting him. But I told him to hit another kid. Around and around that thought went, into a troubled night.

Kids default to Good. That I still believe, but I know this as well: for better or for worse, whether we mean to or not, we teach them that there are other options.