The Bully Factor

I was visiting another blog and one that I like very much called Teen Autism and she talked about a topic that sent me back many years ago. It’s about bullies and that this mom has to homeschool her autistic son because of the unrelenting bullying at school. I commented that, thankfully, I don’t have that going on with my son, but I certainly had with my younger brother when we were kids. He has ADD/ADHD but we didn’t know it back then (1970s-1980s); instead it seemed to be a learning disability and a bit of quirky behavior; but he just couldn’t catch a break with his fellow peers. Some of the boys in the neighborhood would be so mean and violent, too. I remember kids would make slingshots and my brother was always the human target. Sure, they wouldn’t be mean to him while I was around, but I couldn’t always be around. They would steal his bike and toss it in the woods; throw things at him in passing; and yell and jeer at him.

One day my parents had the presence of mind to send him to a psychologist, but they weren’t happy about it. I think the school psychologist suggested it, so they thought it would be best to take him. I think that my parents wanted everything to just stay simple and be okay. Then one day I was asked (perhaps told) to be the guest visitor and speaker. On that day, the psychologist asked me about my brother and what I thought about the bullying. I was in the room with both my parents and my brother and felt like I was some specimen sitting there under a microscope being examined by all. The psychologist told me that my brother thought that he embarrassed me most of the time. How dreadful. I remember that I tried to play it cool, and that I didn’t want my emotions to show. I told him that it wasn’t a big deal to me that he was teased. I lied. But I didn’t want to tell the psychologist, my brother and my parents, for that matter, that I felt bad for him (and for me) that I had to witness kids mocking him behind his back. I didn’t want to tell them that I remembered the day that my brother rode his bike to McDonalds to get us both a burger and fries, and that he came back with barely anything left in his bag because the bullies got him. That I wanted to run to my room and cry my eyes out because this poor kid couldn’t even take a bike ride without being on some bully’s radar. Did he cry or complain? No. He just accepted it as if it were a mere fact of life. He told me, most matter-of-factly, that “they were after me and I couldn’t make it home with the full bag” of goodies.

I don’t know exactly when it ended. If the inauguration into manhood thwarted the bullies and that they had just found something better to do like “date” and “girls.” I think girls had something to do with it. In high school I had good friends and when my brother became a freshman, the rules changed. My brother became off limits in respect, perhaps, to his older sister: trust me, there were comments. But one of the most interesting days was when my brother’s number one adversary (if not the leader of the bullying pack himself) offered to walk with my brother, as a friend, the half mile from the school bus stop to home and, from what I understood, they had a nice greeting, shared some good peer conversation and ended on this high note: “By the way, tell your sister that I like her.” Who had the power now, baby!! ;)

Life At Her New School...

Update on Meghan:

She is doing wonderfully!! She really is. She likes the structure and the group of women/teachers who work with her throughout the week and weekends--and they like her; they said that they were so impressed with Meghan's ability to adapt to her new surrounding/schedule and fit right in right off the bat. Right now she is staying at “her” house for up to 5 weeks before she can start coming home on the weekends, if she even wants to. It seems like she is enjoying her time at school and at her house, with all the girls, just that much.

We visit every Saturday and last week she played ball with us and then showed us around her house (a typical 1970s style colonial house in a suburban development with similar style homes, set up with easy, fun furniture)--she entertained us with her new found ability to work on the treadmill and the stationary exercise bike--just showing off for us! Then she likes to show off her room (a large master bedroom shared with two other girls--get this, girl's names: Molly, Maggie, Meghan and before Meghan was Maria!!) they all have their own television and they like to share with each other what they're watching at night--it's like a slumber party, apparently, minus the pillow fights!

After about an hour or so, we left and she was waiving bye and kissed us…Wow, she really likes her new school, I must say!

Soon, they will take Meghan out in the community: They will go to parks, shopping, and restaurants with their group of girls...and continue to reinforce acceptance in the community.

Life is different for us at home too. Meghan commanded a lot of attention and required a lot of help, so life is easier for me too. Nick is getting the attention from us that he needed and it's a lot easier to go out knowing that we can have a day out without worrying if it's going to be a: good, bad, or ugly kind of day!!

So it’s good! But Meghan is happy too and that's what is most important to us! Isn’t that what we want for our children, foremost?

And hey, I can finally go back to work after 13 years--Yikes--will someone hire me???

Day/Night #1 at Residential School

I am quietly awaiting the "very first" of daily phone calls to be expected from my daughter’s new school to get an update on how her first night went--that is, sleeping somewhere that is not home--or home to her. I still have not yet heard from them at 11:00 am this morning and am quietly chanting to myself as I read my e-mails, the news and random blogs that I like to occasionally check in on: “ I’m not gonna call, I’m not gonna call…”

As some of you know, Meghan is in a new residential school and one that we had chosen wisely for her and had been on a waiting list for just about a year. If someone is going to send their child to a residential school, then I believe in choosing wisely for the absolute right school. And how does one go about choosing the right school? Through countless research, visits, interviews and a really, really good, old-fashioned gut instinct and sense that this is, in fact, the right school for your child; hence, we had no reservations about the school that we chose for Meghan, located in Southborough, MA.

We took her to attend her very first class yesterday morning and she went along happily and excitedly--as she had done once before during a separate visit.

We, however, were taken to another (conference) room and held hostage to--yet again--two or three more pieces of paperwork to sign, sign, and sign away; more interviews with the nurse to ABSOLUTELY make sure that her health record had not changed in a whole week worth of time; sat down with-- yet another--person from “fund raising” to see how and what “we” could do to help raise money (donate)—as parents who “will of course” participate in their child’s school programs. Then the morning was "topped off" with a special luncheon with her teachers and residential support staff (other teachers) as if one could really eat at a time like this. Then we visited Meghan in her class—a solitary room (that is without other students and with all three of her teachers) in which NOT to say goodbye to Meghan, but instead “we will see you soon, honey—we love you!” and pray like hell that she doesn’t try to run after us or grab a pant leg and scream her bloody head off…And with barely any control over my own emotions, I would have just started balling my eyes out. I think then all bets would have to be off!

Oh Geez!!

But NO, that dreadful imaginary scene did not, in fact, happen; as truth should be told, Meghan continued to have fun and enjoyed not une, nor deux, but trios of her teacher’s playing and attending to her as she sat soaking-in-all-that-lovely attention--hey, who's mom and dad anyway! as we watched through a one way mirror.

Thank God!!

I called at 7:00 that evening to say hi to Meghan and to hear from the teacher about the rest of her day and evening. Mind you, she has never been without her parents in all of her 13 years.

"She's doing great” was the report, in fact, she had just showered, changed and was ready to brush her teeth, and I thought: Ha, brush her teeth and it’s only 7:00 pm, Wow, after 4 hours of residential living and intense behavioral therapy, she’s already a changed girl!! Or scared stiff? Or simply cooperating for “time off for good behavior? (Stop it!!)

Who knows, but time will tell. And we will take one day at a time... We will visit her on Saturday with her brother, Nick, who will get a chance to see the house for the first time, and her new room at school, and we will all get to meet her roommates… and I will not call but instead (patiently) wait for the teacher's daily phone call for an update.

“I will not call, I will not call, I will not call, I will not…”