Guest Post: Bullying: What Would You Have Done?

They say the very first role model to a child is the parent; that they greatly influence who the child grows up to be. I can certainly attest to that; even though I spent half, if not my entire, teens vowing that I would never be like my mother. There were times I was convinced I was adopted (even though I didn’t know what that meant at the time). It’s only now that I am a mother myself, that I am truly appreciative of the kind of parents I have, especially my mother (don’t tell her I said this).

They say children will listen to what you say to some extent, however they will definitely do what you do.

When I started primary school in the sandy streets of Khayelitsha in Cape Town, I had an older cousin who was in grade five, so I knew I was safe from being bullied. Every time a kid stole my pencil, come short break, I would run to that cousin and report it; at long break he would do what big cousins do, sort it out for me, no violence just plain talk, it was bliss. Fast forward, a year later big cousin had to go back to the rurals and I was left all alone, no big cousin to defend me, no big sister as she was already in the rurals; what now?

Well, I have always been quiet and stayed clear of any kind of unnecessary trouble. This worked well until one Wednesday afternoon two days before school closed for June holidays. This girl that I didn’t know, I had never seen her in my life, came up to me and said “ndizovala ngawe Friday use gqithi” (I will beat the crap out of you on Friday you silly girl). Needless to say I went home swimming in an ocean of tears, the closer I got to the house, the louder the cries. When I told my mother what happened I expected sympathy and I got zilch, instead she and my father laughed at me. They were convinced the girl was pulling a fast one, after all, who would want to beat little innocent coward me?

Failure to get sympathy from my folks led me to do what any child in their right mind would do, on Friday morning (D-day), I woke up with a mysterious stomach ache coupled with a headache, to which my mom did that thing they did back then to check your temperature. She touched my forehead with the back of her hand and said, “No headache here you are fine”. I protested that the tummy was the biggest problem, she lifted my vest did the same kind of touch and said, “You are good to go, now eat your food and make your way to school”. Right then and there I knew she was not my mother, what kind of a mother sends their sick child to school to be beaten up by a tall model looking girl?

If you were to ask me what I ate that day or what we did in class, I couldn’t tell you, because all I was thinking of was an escape plan. I was petrified of that girl, she was very tall, older and pretty, and I had never been in a fight before; I was only seven for goodness sake. I finally decided I was going to remain behind, let everyone leave, and hope and pray that she didn’t come to find me. I forgot that there was only one gate.

When my son came home in tears the other day, and I asked what happened, he told me that a kid named Matthew choked him using his school jacket. I examined him, but didn’t see any unfamiliar marks or swelling. I then called his teacher, who confirmed that there was some kind of a fight, but nothing to worry about as they had managed to defuse it. I thought alright, let me not be “that kind” of a mother and I let it pass. A week later I had a missed call from the school principal, my son fell, nothing to worry about, but they thought it was best they let me know. I didn’t rush to school as I would have a year ago, eventually when I made it, I was told that my son was tripped by a fellow classmate on his way from teacher’s desk to his. He then fell on his head on top of the desk, but it wasn’t serious.

When we got home I asked him who the kid was and he said, “He’s my best friend mama, it’s fine. Even though it did hurt, I have forgiven him and  he has apologised.”

As the good mother that I am I took a lesson from my mother and gladly passed onto him, it went something like:

“This is the last time I get a call from school because someone has done something to you. The next time I get a call from school, it will be because a boy had tripped you and you fell; and on your way up, you hit the boy with the hardest fist in between his eyes and he was bleeding furiously – only then will I come to the school. No more will you let other kids walk all over you and all you do is forgive them; next time they will forgive you.”

He gave me the very same petrified look I gave my mother years ago, when she expected me to fight back Miss tall model looking pretty bully.

It turned out my mother is my mother; she loved me enough to teach me to stand up for myself the only way she knew how. She taught me a lot about kindness and compassion, but she also taught me that letting bullies walk all over you is more of a weakness than a strength. It turns out the common good between my mother and I will always be LOVE. Love defies rational thought, because it asks for nothing yet receives everything.

While I will never fully understand love, and I have yet to understand parenting, whenever I sink into that confusion of what do, of how love is supposed to be, every time logic eludes me, there is one thing that remains constant – the Love I have for my son.

…I am yet to get another call from school…

What would you have done if you were in a similar situation?

 

This post was written by Andiswa Machanyana. She blogs at Torn Jeans and Corporate Suits.  Follow her on Twitter.