Julie Jay: Nobody wants their child to be a bully — or to be bullied
Julie Jay: As a former teacher, I’ve witnessed prodding and slagging and things going too far. I always felt for the bully’s parents too, because ultimately all we want is for our kids to play nice, be kind, and make everyone feel important. It must be heartbreaking to hear that your child is giving another child a hard time.
A few weeks ago, Ted pushed somebody in the playground. More confusingly, the recipient of this push was a child he usually gets on great with. Though I hadn’t seen what had precipitated the incident, I marched him home immediately (given that we live approximately five feet from the playground, this is a lot less dramatic than it sounds).
I ushered Ted into the sitting room and sat my husband down in the kitchen for a chat. I told him about the incident and advised him not to panic. That this was totally normal, within the scheme of things, and we shouldn’t overreact.
Sadly, Fred couldn’t hear me because he was already furiously googling child psychologists.
"We’ve got a serious problem on our hands," he whispered as we nervously eyed Ted in the hall, who had now turned his attention to counting pebbles.
"He’s just testing boundaries, Fred," I said because I have watched TikToks with child counsellors, so I know stuff.
Fred’s hands clasped his cheeks as he pondered Ted’s future years.
"What if he becomes a bully?" he asked.
I immediately pooh-poohed the idea, and Fred dismissed it too. Given both his parents were a bully’s dream in school, Ted becoming a bully would be a strange turn of events. Fred went to an all-boys boarding school and liked music, particularly choir, so he was not the most popular kid in fifth-year, when the main hobbies were smoking and getting the shift. I, meanwhile, liked art and poetry, so between the two of us, we made it easy for schoolyard tyrants to poke fun at our respective glockenspiel and the latest haiku.
Bullying is going to rear its ugly head at some point, and I am dreading it. Ted will most likely alternate between being a victim at some point and a proponent because such is the way of humans. Just last week, a friend called and told me her son had been punched in a very sensitive area at school. She was understandably fuming, so much so I could practically feel her nostrils flaring down the phone.
"Still, it's better to be the parent of the one who was hit in the nuts than the parent of the one doing the hitting," I said. She mumbled something that sounded like 'acquiescence' while shouting at a child in the background to spit out a battery and ending the call abruptly.
Bullying is a big accusation. As anyone who has watched an episode of can attest, it is one of those words that can’t be retracted once put out into the ether. Once it is uttered, there is no coming back.
As a former teacher, I’ve witnessed prodding and slagging and things going too far. I always felt for the bully’s parents too, because ultimately all we want is for our kids to play nice, be kind, and make everyone feel important. It must be heartbreaking to hear that your child is giving another child a hard time.
As an adult, I know I have been guilty of unkind behaviour. I have jumped on the bandwagon and joined in a collective slagging, particularly when in the company of somebody I am trying to impress. It would be lovely to think that people who have been picked on themselves would be the last to be unkind to others, but the truth is a part of me is still just relieved it’s not me on the receiving end.
But part of parenting is wanting your kid to be a better person than you were and are, so I decided to confront Ted’s behaviour head-on.
Had I imagined the push?
"I did it," he announced with a chilling nonchalance. His father let out an audible gasp, and I attempted to relay things in a context he would understand. I explained that in life we want to be more Mario and Luigi than Bowzer, and he considered the Nintendo metaphor for a moment. "I like mushrooms," Ted declared, and I felt I’d really gotten my point across.
The following week, I picked Ted up from a play date, and he proceeded to tell me that he had got a little push that day. The tables had turned — the pusher had become the pushee. I asked how he responded and he told me he asked the child to stop and he did. If only all conflicts were so easily resolved, this country would save a fortune on Oireachtas inquiries.
Inside the house, Ted dropped his school bag, unzipped his coat, and ran straight to JJ, who was lying in his baby gym (because, as JJ likes to say, his health is his wealth). Ted curled up beside his little brother and rubbed his head in gentle, loving strokes. "My JJ," he said lovingly.
I told Fred we have a good boy on our hands, and he breathed a sigh of relief while simultaneously saying he had never doubted it for a second.
"Phew, I was starting to worry it'd be Leaving Cert 1998 all over again, only this time I'd be getting slagged off in my own kitchen," he said.
I advised him to lay off the glockenspiel, just in case. Because whatever about Ted, I'm not sure I could refrain from cracking a gag about his impossibly tiny sticks.
