My five-year-old received her first ever detention yesterday after pushing some older boy over for bullying her and her friends. And that punishment was to be fulfilled today on a weekend.Â
Thinking itâd just be any other day, I dropped her off like I usually did and came back at noon when her sentence elapsed.Â
Problem is when I reached the detention classroom, I see papers and debris flying about like a miniature tornado was contained within. From the window, I see my kid sitting at her desk and staring at something behind her. Two adjacent desks were conspicuously missing.Â
I enter inside. And I see what sheâs staring at: a crying, scared 7 or 8-year old boy. I find the missing desks as splintered wood and warped metal near the boyâs sides, not anywhere close to the boy. He was physically fine.
My stupidly high perception catches several torn papers flying about, multiple increasingly agitated writings of âSTOP ITâ and âIM TELLING THE TEACHER.â
In that moment, everything falls down as the localized storm stops. My kid turns her head around, hair messy from the wind, and I see her hand pressed against a large bruise over her eye that wasnât there before.Â
Iâm not proud of saying this. But in that moment, when I saw her hurt and in tears, I wanted to LOBOTOMIZE THAT LITTLE FUCKER WHO DARED TO HIT MY DAUGHTER. A syllable was nearly out of my mouth before I realized what exactly I was about to do - to a kid barely older than my own.Â
I turn my head over to the front of the room and notice the last and most important person in the room snoring away - the supervising teacher - out like a light and smelling suspiciously of strong alcohol. That drunk syphilis-guzzling fucker slept through the entire thing.Â
If this empty headed jackass was actually doing his job, none of this shit wouldâve happened!Â
I give my kid a quick hug before I take a piece of paper lying on the floor and kneel down at the second/third-grader. I write down who I am and how lucky he is to survive a valuable lesson about how bullies sometimes bully the wrong person. I explain that I would like him to not say anything on the matter and then hint about how if my kid could do this, imagine what I am capable of. Â
I lead the kids out of the hall and into the front foyer. I tell the boy to stay here and be picked up by his parent and remind him to not say a word before I take my understandably distressed kid out of there. Â
Iâm not comfortable with leaving behind so many loose ends. If I had to choose between my kid and that brat, I would choose my kid without hesitation. But I donât want my child to wonder one day about a boy who once bullied her that mysteriously disappeared...
Not sure why Iâm posting this. Maybe I just want affirmation that I did the right thing or at least not major wrong ones. Ugggh.