Ass-Kicking Eve

The night before the meeting I am talking with Kate.

I mention my appointment the next day and she is similarly amused with fly-on-the-wall desires to be there. "They have no idea what they are in store for," she says.

I tell her that I have been amazed to learn that with all the affluence and all the do-gooding that my neighborhood has been known for, (Politicians, and Olympians, and Grammy winners, and Novelists, and you-name-it-we've-produced-one-you-know-by sights) we are way behind in an issue as prominent in the news as Bullying. (Yes, with a capital B.)

She mentions that her school district has made an investment in this formal program and has trained the teachers, and meets with the students, and conducts role plays, blah blah blah. Her kid is 7. They are getting them young.

She can't remember the name of the program but I google her school district and search for "Bullying" and the flood gates open. (What the Hell did anyone do before Google? Sit in the research library hoping Britannica covered it in the last reprint?)

The program Kate's school has thrown themselves into body and soul is called Olweus, after the genius that created it. It is fabulous. Assessment tools. Laws by state. Tools that help a school begin to formulate a program. Links to resources. (Go ahead. You know you want to Google it. I'll wait.)

It is indeed comprehensive. And probably expensive. But if you want to make a convincing demonstration that you have a zero tolerance policy for Bullying, and that "Zero Tolerance" means that not even one instance of Bullying will be ignored or accepted, and intend to make that perfectly clear to the bullies and the bullied, then this is the program you buy into.

And Scott sends me a link. It is called "Kidscape" and it is just as powerful. Tools. Sample policies. Poster ideas. Canned speeches. All geared toward the person who is pushing the issue at a school - whether they are a school employee or a parent. And the best part for me was warnings about the things the school might tell me, like "We don't have any Bullying here at The Divine Joyous School of Equality and Benevolence." And things I can say back (minus the curse words I will inevitably feel compelled to insert.)

I organize my notes.
I highlight policies.
I print and underline the more ridiculous sections of the circus poster on Bullying.
I jot down a few court room closing argument zingers. Once I've bulleted them out, I can deliver like Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch.

I press my shirt.
I pick my jewelry.
I make sure the pointy, bitchy black heels are polished beyond reproach.
I set my alarm for a little earlier than usual. I want to make sure I have time to make myself shiny.
I look over the stylish black suit that says that I am not boring, not afraid to be a woman, and won't hesitate to leave your dignity in shreds without raising my voice.

Pat comes into my room before he goes to bed. He would really like to forget any of this is happening and wants to know what I am going to say. I tell him that I want to make sure his situation is over for good and I will ask for assurances of that.

I tell him what assurances I will ask for.

I also tell him that I am on a crusade. Once he stops rolling his little teenaged eyes, I tell him why it is important that I do. Because to do nothing when you know there is a problem is to be part of the problem. And maybe there is some kid out there whose Mom and Dad will not go into school and make an issue. I will be that kid's advocate, too.

And I feel a little like Atticus Finch, who walked the talk with Scout and Jem with his upstanding and fearless attitude. He said:

"When a child asks you something, answer him, for goodness sake. But don't make a production of it. Children are children, but they can spot an evasion faster than adults, and evasion simply muddles 'em."

No evading on my part. Just straight forward information like you'd give to the answer to the question about where babies come from. Skirting the issue is not an option. And there is a lot to be learned in that.