Kick Me On The Bus
If dad did one thing right (he did many things right, but work with me here), he always lived close by school. It was a natural thing, of course; he was a high school teacher, and we lived in a small town, so there was little reason not to. We lived five blocks from my elementary school, and four from the junior and senior high (which were in the same building). Better still? My grandmother lived a block from the high school - so Dad and I could frequently run over to Grandma's for lunch.
So in all my years of elementary, junior and senior high, I never once had to ride the bus to school. I walked. Every day, rain, shine or blizzard.
And that whole "not taking the bus" thing is something that, in seeing my own kids' experiences, I've become more and more thankful for.
This story on Sheila's blog reminded me of a similar incident with my own kids.
My son was in second grade; my daughter, fourth. They went to the same elementary school at the time; my ex-wife and I had put them there because we liked the program, which was one of the best-rated in the whole Saint Paul system. Downside: It was a long bus ride, from the Midway all the way to the North End, probably eight miles via the freeway. They were just about the first kids picked up and the last dropped off, so it was a long haul on the bus.
In the late fall, my son started acting afraid to get on the bus. "What's the matter?", I asked.
"Genesis [name changed to protect the guilty] has been picking fights". I turned to my daughter. "What's going on?" She nodded. "She's getting in Sam's face, trying to get him to fight. She's being a little b*tch".
After I scolded her for her language, and complimented them both for their restraint, I told them "Make sure you don't hit her, and tell me if there are any problems".
That night, my son came home nearly in tears. Genesis had been tormenting him, to and from school, mercilessly. The driver had done nothing when my daughter tried to get his attention.
The next morning, I went to the school and talked with the Assistant Principal, the administrator in charge of bus discipline, and explained what had been happening.
"Did Sam say who was doing this?"
I mentioned Genesis.
"Ah, said the Assistant Principal with a knowing look on her face. "She's a little African-American girl. They have a different standard for female aggression. We need to be sensitive to that."
I stood, dumbfounded. I response formed in my head; I pondered whether or not to use it. Do I want to regret NOT saying this the rest of my life?", I asked myself. No. I don't.
"Maam, my kids are descended from Vikings. They're used to standing up in their longboats, and looting and pillaging everything in their path. Shall we be sensitive to that cultural standard, as well?"
The Assistant Principal looked shocked for a moment. She looked at me, puzzled, as if the thought had never occurred to her.
Then she nodded. "I see your point. I'll talk with Genesis".
That was the last problem we had.
Posted by Mitch at
January 7, 2005 05:40 AM
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BOOYAH!!!
Posted by: MLP at January 7, 2005 09:51 AMWay to go, Mitch!!!!
Listen, all four of my kids go (or went) to a Catholic school here in Mpls that is 60% black, and 85% minority. The kids are all wonderfully behaved, none of my kids ever had a problem on the bus (before the city cut our bus) and it's all because the school WILL NOT TOLERATE BAD BEHAVIOR. Not in the school, on the playground, on the bus or even off school property!!
The fact that the grownups refuse to retake control is one of the main reasons I've been willing to drive my kids to a great school five miles away, rather than send them to the grade school right across the street from my house!
As you can tell from all the exclamation points, this is an excitable subject for me.
MLPivec
This is a wonderful story, Mitch. And your point is well well taken.
Cashel has made his decision to sit in the FRONT of the bus because the bully (as ALWAYS) sits in the back.
Cashel = Brave soul. :)
Posted by: red at January 7, 2005 03:13 PM::Cashel has made his decision to sit in the FRONT of the bus because the bully (as ALWAYS) sits in the back.:::
The school bully made me her personal victim for weeks, calling me names, harrassing me in the cafeteria, taking food off my plate, shoving me in line... She threatened to beat me up, too, and she chased me to my bus every day for weeks, me terrified, panting like a hunted rabbit, afraid, seriously afraid for my physical safety and well-being. I was scrawny, a bag of bones with no muscles at all. She was three years older than the rest of us, having been held back that many times, big and husky. Looking back, I can see she had many problems that adults should have been taking care of, but I still don't see why I should have ever had to endure one minute of her bullying.
No adults handled it, addressed it, or offerered me any useful aid or advice. The problem resolved itself when harrassed beyond endurance, I stabbed her hand with my fork in the cafeteria when she was grabbing food off my plate and we *both* got sent to the principle's office. She decided we were friends after that, but I never understood it. It was like being friends with a rabid rattlesnake.
But, you know, I guess this is just normal behavior, a little obnoxious, but something bus-riders and other school kids just have to deal with so they can learn to handle the real world. Because God knows, if any of us were commuting to work and a fellow commuter popped us in the head with a bottle and called us names we'd just change seats on the bus. And if a co-worker regularly agressively grabbing food off of our plate in the cafeteria and shoved us while we waited in line, we'd just accept it. And if a co-worker chased us out to our cars every day after work, breathing fire and murder and mayhem, well, we'd just accept that as part of dealing with the real world and run- and come back to work the next day and endure the whole thing again. And if we took it up with the boss and she said she'd 'speak to' the aggressor, we'd be okay with that approach to being hit in the head with a bottle by a co-worker who would continue to be our co-worker. Yep. The real world. Wonderful place. That's why we adults put up with the same kind of maltreatment from our co-workers that we expect our kids to tolerate from theirs. All the time.
Posted by: "Kanga" at January 8, 2005 10:26 AM