Today, as fourth graders were packing up their things to go home, four of my son's classmates were voting on whether or not he was stupid. The ringleader would ask, "Who think's Trevor's retarded?" and the other three would raise their hands. "Who thinks Trevor's stupid?", all the hands go up. "Who thinks Trevor's dumb?", three out of three of the followers voted that he for sure is.
So my ten year old came home from school today with puffy eyes, and pink cheeks because of the words of these kids. Three kids voting against him. Three kids siding with the mean girl, and agreeing that he was dumb.
As he told me the story on the way home from school, so quietly I could barely hear him, my eyes filled with tears. I wasn't angry, I was just wounded. Wounded because I could tell that this one hurt him.
"Mom, you can tell me if something is wrong with me you know. I mean is it? Do I have something like how some kids have ADHD or things? Did a doctor ever say anything is wrong with me?"
More tears running down my cheeks. More broken heart forcing itself to beat as I listen to my son try to fit the words of his classmates into his view of himself. A view that now feels like maybe he is broken.
I told him, most assuredly, that he is not broken in any way. And that in some small way those kids must feel broken to be hurting him like that. Kids who are confident, strong, and kind don't seek to hurt others. That we may never know what is in them that feels fixed when they pick on him, but that it certainly isn't about him. It is about them.
Then we talked about how it would have felt if someone hadn't raised their hand. If someone had voted for him instead of against him. The relief he would have felt if just one person had his back. That was the word he used. Relieved. And I told him to always be that person.
And now, as he sits reading Harry Potter I am still teary. I don't want to send him back to the wolves tomorrow. I don't want them to hurt him anymore, just because they can. Just because there are four of them and one of him, and because he is too sweet to beat the crap out of them like I want him to. And I am teary because I feel like I have let him be too soft. I have let him be too into books, and I have let him love too much... animals, and bugs, and me. I have let him be too kind. I should have tried to change him.
But that is never true.
God made my son smart. He made him kind, empathetic, hilarious, and so exceedingly loving. I hope that the words from today don't scar him, but rather stay with him as a reminder to be the one person who provides another child the relief of just not being alone. The world is a tough place. Even when you're just ten.
