Murderous Thoughts

I fully understand the compulsion to harm a child. I felt it yesterday. Not my own child, mind you. Someone else's. Another person's great big fat hyperactive troublemaking monster boyshit whose idea of a good time is to run up behind all the little girls in his class at the Little Gym and give them a shove. Need I mention 2 Year Old was among the girls who received his attentions? It disturbed me on so many levels but not, of course, on the first real revelation that I am fully capable of intentionally harming another human being -- a child, no less -- and feeling nothing but glee about it.

No, what disturbed me was that the child got away with it. He managed this in the 37.6 milliseconds that all three instructors were otherwise engaged. Falling prey to the playground dictum that tattling is a worse offense than the behavior reported, not a single one of the half dozen mothers seated on the sidelines who witnessed the boyshit's behavior actually reported it to an authority in attendance, including Yours Truly.

Further disturbance to my psyche was caused by the complete lack of attention paid by boyshit's parental unit who was, at the time, seated in the lobby behind the picture window that separates it from the gymnasium. This activity did not occur in some hidden corner of the room but on the giant red floor mat directly in front of the window. The fact the woman didn't burst through the door and drag boyshit out of class might be explained by a different parenting style than mine. The lack of attention to boyshit's behavior once class was over may have been due to the mother's wish to address it in private. Perhaps she did not actually witness his shittiness. Or, heaven forbid, perhaps in boyshit's household, male on female violence is perfectly acceptable, in which case, the mother is not to be despised but, rather, pitied.

Most disturbing on an ongoing basis was the realization, upon seeing her slowly and gracefully dissolve into tears, that my baby has already, but five mere days from her third birthday, been ushered into the phase of life when my ability to protect her is being terminated. I began to think of all the boyshits that will shove her into coathooks in the hallway at school and push her down on the playground and whack her lunch tray out of her hand scattering her food hither-thither and leaving her hungry for the rest of the schoolday. I can't begin to bring myself to imagine what the girlshits will do to her. There is wickedness and cruelty a mother simply cannot bring to her mind while she contemplates her darling's future.

It is my job to teach her to protect herself within the bounds of what is reasonable, ethical, and fits within the dictates of the values we wish to instill in her. The trouble is, how does one reconcile that one's own values differ from the cultural norm to the extent that it will actually put one's own child in harm's way? Because, let's face it, if I teach 2 Year Old to stand up for herself, every bully with a whiff of narcissism or an ambition of meglomania will be able to smell her defiant determination to live as though civilization were fact rather than theory. In the moment, as I cuddled my stunned girl, I told her it was totally OK to go right up to the bully and say, "I don't like that. What you did wasn't nice. Don't do it again." Now, you know and I know I might as well have told her, "If someone hurts you, make sure they know exactly who you are and how badly you'll react to it so they will be sure to do it again and often."

I've been the sweet, innocent little blonde girl on the playground who thinks if she minds her own business the boyshits will leave her alone and the girlshits will want to be her friend. I'm living proof it doesn't work. After reading Amy Lane's experiences with students and parents and watching hockey Dads beat each other to death and witnessing repeatedly how the world really works, how do I instruct my daughter to deal with this shit? The thing is, I honestly don't know because I haven't yet figured out how to deal with this shit. It makes me homicidally angry at best and suicidally depressed at the other end of the spectrum.