Operation Bullyproof

While Jess still felt that her karate skills were more than good enough to handle the situation at hand, Ben and I decided that a bit of bully-stopping self-defense training was in order. (For the full story read this first – Girls Can’t Play Soccer). After discussing it together, we came up with a three step process to follow:

• Step 1: Keep a straight face and use a stern, strong voice to say, “Stop that. It’s not a game. I don’t like it.”
• Step 2: If they don’t stop, give them a second stern, clear warning.
• Step 3: If they still don’t stop, punch them as hard as you can.

Yes. Yes, we did. Maybe it sounds harsh to you. It did to me, at first. And it definitely did to Jess, who was more than a little surprised by our advice. We had always taught her not to hit. We had always taught her kindness first. And now we were teaching her to hit someone? Hard? In the face? What kind of strange new world had she been thrust into?!

For us, it was simply a matter of safety. We talked to her about making sure that she protected her body. We told her that she was allowed to protect herself from being hurt, even if it meant that she had to hit someone to protect herself.

Believe me, I hated having to have this type of conversation with my child. I hated the fact that the school was not supporting my daughter to the point that we had to have it. I hated bursting some of her innocence. It was a hard thing we had asked her to do… and it wasn’t fair, to her or to us, to have to ask it of her. She understood, though, and seemed to feel empowered by the understanding that she didn’t need to just sit back and take it. She was ready to be trained.

We found out about the bullying on a Friday after school, and practiced with her all weekend. We pretended to insult her, to hit and to kick her. She practiced blocking our blows, and practiced the words she would say. She practiced punching hard. And we taught her to look for the first opportunity to get safely away.

Naturally, she worried about getting in trouble for fighting at school. So I told her, “If they send you to the office, hold your head up high. Don’t you dare cry. Tell them, ‘Call my mother.’ And I’ll come and I’ll fight for you.”

When Monday came along we sent her off to school, confident that she knew what to do. Funnily enough, I wasn’t even worried about her… Well, not much…

“If you don’t stop now,

I’m going to punch you

as hard as I can,

in the face!”

Alright, I may or may not have been thinking about it the entire day. When I picked her up from school, I instantly asked her how everything had gone. She got this excited look and said, “Okay, so here’s what happened. At recess I played soccer and the boys made that circle again, and began to push us. So I did what you said… I told them, ‘Stop it. It’s not funny. I don’t like it.’ They kept going, so I said, ‘If you don’t stop now, I’m going to punch you as hard as I can, in the face!'”

I confess, I laughed out loud. That wasn’t exactly what we had discussed… but it was close enough; and we had to admit, thinking about it afterwards, that it was very sporting of her to set such clear expectations for her adversaries.

Apparently, it worked. Some of the boys pretended to faint in surprise, and the rest ran away in fear of her cocked fist and determined gaze.

She had such a look of pride as she told me her tale. It was a powerful thing, knowing that she was able to take care of her own problem. And she could tell that we were proud of her, too.

The next day it happened again, though. The boys surrounding the girls, the pushing, the whole deal. This time, miracle of miracles, there was a recess monitor near enough that it was convenient for her to intervene. This “responsible adult” parted a path for the girls to get out of the circle of boys and “rescued” them. Then she turned to the girls and told them not play with the boys anymore. *facepalm*

Jess came home that afternoon and reported what had happened. Now, I don’t know if you can tell, as you read this post, how angry I felt towards all these people. No, I wasn’t angry… I was livid. Not so much the kids… although I was obviously not happy with them. But these adults who should know better… who should be protecting and building up our children… they were just making the problems worse. I was ready to throw my shoes on and march to the school to have a much-needed chat with the principal.

I was already preparing my scathing speech. “I’m going to talk to your principal. This is outrageous! They can’t tell you that girls can’t play soccer! That lady is wrong. She’s just taking the easy road and not dealing with the real issue. You keep playing with the boys. You show them that girls can play soccer too! If you get in trouble, I will fight for you. They can’t do that! I’m going to march over there and talk to your principal!”

I suddenly felt a wave of both

pride and sadness that has

become a very familiar feeling.

As I fumed, my sweet 7-year-old child looked at me and said, “Mom, please don’t…” She knew she could handle it. She didn’t need her mommy storming in to take care of her problem. She felt confident that she could do this herself.

I suddenly felt a wave of both pride and sadness that has become a very familiar feeling. I felt it when she was weaned to a sippy cup. I felt it when she became a big sister, and when she potty trained. When she learned to tie her shoes, and when she learned to ride a bike.

She’s growing up. She’ll need me less and less as the years go by. It’s hard to let go, and let her face her own world. But I’ll always be there for her. And I’ll continue to learn from her every day.

Since then, she has recruited several other girls to play soccer with the boys. She doesn’t always play… but now there are always girls playing. And the boys are grudgingly accepting the new norm; they don’t circle the girls anymore. Jess taught the rest of the girls karate, though, just in case…

I couldn’t be prouder of my beautiful, strong, confident, little girl. She knew God had sent her with a purpose. And when the opportunity presented itself, she embraced the chance to change her world, for good. And because she did, she changed the world for everyone along the way.

She changed the life of her new friend. She changed the world for those boys; and hopefully she changed the culture at her school. She changed, herself, as she grew through the adversity. And she changed me.