Yeah, your teachers told me today that you’re a terror. No, they didn’t use that word, but when I went in that morning to ask them to keep an eye on you when you play with Michael (because of the little red marks, black and blue marks, and scabs on your arm), they told me it wasn’t Michael. It seems you are the one who pushes, hits, grabs, and bullies the other children.
The night before I asked how you got that bruise on your face, and you said “Michael pushed me.” All I can say is, I’m shocked.
You sat quietly while your teachers systematically exposed your diabolical scheme to get all the toys in the playground. All the toys over to your side of the mushroom chair. I was surprised. Not by what you had done, but with the ease with which you took bite after bite of your whole wheat bagel, (only recently pulled from a hot Brooklyn oven), and denied nothing.
One also mentioned she has a hard time bringing you back into the room—once recess was finishing up. She asked what I do in those situations and I told her I say “Bye” and begin to leave the playground. It works 98% of the time.
Your teachers were treating the situation with as much delicacy as they could muster. I felt as though you hadn’t bullied the children, but snuck in a switch blade. They also spelled out the word “talk” saying we shouldn’t t-a-l-k about it in front of you, as it might make you insecure. (As if you are even aware of how you come across.) I admitted you probably figured we were talking about you, the other teacher quickly agreeing with me, “Yeah, they just have this sixth sense. They know when you’re talking about them.” A sixth sense. I have never spoken to your teachers for that long, in the year and a half you’ve been in school, does it really take a sixth sense? What else would I possibly have to talk to them about?
Remember… When you want to hit, hug. Bro it out.