Today when I picked up the boys from school, Rocky got into the car very upset and told me a classmate had been calling him names. I asked him what she called him, thinking I’d hear the standard “buttmunch” or perhaps “fart knocker.” Then I took a moment to feel a little bit guilty that HunkyDory watched a tad too much Beavis & Butthead when Rocky was a toddler. I sheepishly remembered the day we pulled up the back of his t-shirt collar to the top of his head and taught him to say, “I am Cornholio!” and run around the living room in circles. Good times, good times. *blinks* Wait, what? Ah, yes.
He said, “She called me a Jew, and I’m not a Jew, I’m a Christian. I tried to tell her they’re different, but she just kept yelling over me ‘Jew Jew Jew Jew’!”
Seriously?! WTH is this kid’s parents teaching her?!
I had a talk with Rocky to make sure that we were on the same page- calling someone a Jew is not an insult but it can get you in some deep, deep trouble, etc. etc. When I got home, I sent WFGT (Wonderful Fifth Grade Teacher to the uninitiated) an email.
I think somebody needs to have a little talk with XXXX. Rocky said she was calling him a Jew like it was an insult. 1 – Rocky is a Christian, not a Jew. 2 – Calling someone a Jew is not an insult. 3 – Jews are good people. 4 – Calling someone a Jew in a sneery voice could possibly be construed as racist and could potentially get her punched in the mouth by a less tolerant person.
Was that ok, emailing the teacher, or am I ‘That Parent’? I know that I would want to know if Rocky did something like that.
A couple weeks ago, WFGT asked if it would be OK if Rocky talked to the kids in the classroom about his ADHD and AS. She thought it would help if his classmates knew what he had, and hopefully they could better understand him and be more tolerant. I said that was fine with me if it was fine with him. Today, Rocky said he and WFGT had a discussion with the class where he disclosed that he has ADHD and AS, and what that’s like for him. When I asked him how that went, he sadly said “the other kids are being even more bossy with me”.
Faced with these two incidents that were causing my child such distress, the Mama Bear in me woke up from hibernation with a craving for Little Kid and Dumplings. Hearing Rocky’s troubles makes me want to waddle into that classroom, emit a deafening, hair-raising, soul-piercing Mama Bear roar, and then make a couple of those kids my first meal after my long winter’s nap.
But I realize that I’ve got to let him learn to advocate for himself, so I suppose I’ll just go back to my cave and hit the snooze button for another six weeks.
5:20am this morning.
My loving husband has gotten up with me. He’s either really brave or really stupid. Let’s go with brave.
I pull what I think is a green shirt out of the closet.
Hunky: Are you gonna wear that?
Dory: Um, yeah.
Hunky: If you’re thinking of wearing green for St. Patrick’s Day, that ain’t green.
Dory: It is too green!
Hunky: It’s really more of a teal or perhaps aquamarine.
Dory: Well, it’s in the green family.
Hunky: A raccoon is in the bear family, but that doesn’t make it a bear, now, does it?
Dory: You’re just a great big girl, arncha?
Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. Hawsum.