Won't Back Down? Why Not?

 My son was walking home from middle school, a long time ago, when he was approached by a kid whose neighborhood he happened to be passing through. The kid confronted my son, then stepped forward and slapped him. My son rushed home from this experience to share it with his mother. He was in tears. Did I mention that the slapper was much younger and smaller than my son? 

Recent events at my school brought up this memory and my potential failures as a parent. Should I have prepared my son for instances like this differently? Why didn't he defend himself? Because his mother and father had never indoctrinated him into the "hit back" culture. I don't know if this year is very different from all the years that have preceded it. Urban Oakland is where I teach. It is where I live. The message from so many parents for all these years has been "hit back." When called upon to discuss this matter with kids and parents at my school, I remind them that they are in a safe place where they don't need to defend themselves in that same way. There are adults scattered across the campus who are waiting for a chance to deescalate a situation. We are there to help. Chances are if a kid hits back, he is hitting a kid whose parents have instilled the same message and there will be no resolution until someone is battered or bruised.

And in tears. 

For the record, my son was nowhere near an adult who might have deescalated the confrontation in which he found himself. He was alone, confused, and suddenly confounded by his predicament. He ran home to his mom. Crying. 

In middle school.

Looking back, I couldn't be more proud of his reaction. It was not terribly different from that of his father, all those years ago. I had my share of tormentors. In junior high in particular. I had two brothers who kept the potential for physical confrontation alive for me, but never in the way that running away crying wouldn't work just as well. All that being said, there was a part of me that was enraged by the idea of my son being hit, struck for no apparent reason. By the time I made my way home from dealing with the elementary schoolers in my charge, I lacked sufficient outrage to march up the hill with my son to find and confront his assailant. I worried that the "crybaby" label might get stuck in his head somewhere and alter all the good programming that was inside of him. 

As it turns out I needn't have worried. My son has a sense of right and wrong that is more evolved than my own. Maybe I could get him to drop by my school for some interventions.