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Who’s to blame?

Who’s to blame? - Manuel Delgado

Yesterday evening, when my kid came back from school I noted he had a blue eye. When I asked him about it, he said he didn’t want to talk about. I let him be for a few minutes, and then I asked for his notebook that his teacher writes me notes.

He went back to the front door where he had left his backpack, silently opens it and searched through it. A minute later he handed it to me without uttering a sound.

I did not know how to react or what to expect of him. Generally, he was not that quiet. Or if something happened at school, he usually would come and let me know. But now, he did not seem to be in the mood for talking, nor revealing anything of the events. I wanted to know who was responsible for his blue eye. That mark on his face did not come from nowhere and it certainly needed to be dealt with immediately.

A bunch of questions were passing through my head during those seconds that he was looking for the notebook. “Was he the victim or the aggressor? What could have caused that incident? Was it a first time incident or it was a recurrent one? Where there any witnesses? What was the teacher’s reaction? Did I have to go to school the following day? How did the other kid look like? Was he having a blue eye as well? A cracked lip?”
I have been a victim of bullying when I was his age, and I did not want him to pass through the same experience as me. It took me years to leave the fear behind and learn how to deal with violence. Needless to add that it did not help my self-esteem, or developing friendships easily. For a long time I used to believe that most of the people were not genuine, and they had a hidden interest, wanting something from me. It took endless sessions of counselling and a loving and extremely patient husband to take me out of that state.

I opened his notebook and looked for the last note written by the teacher. Somewhere around the middle of the notebook, there was a small note addressed to me. I was invited to go see his teacher the following day before class. I inquired again my son about the events that got him hurt, but he didn’t say a word.

This morning, while I was waiting on the school’s corridor for my kid’s teacher, I saw one of my Edmonton asphalt dealers approaching. I was surprised to see him there. It turned out he was the father of the other kid. Both, we were summoned by the teacher to discuss about our children’s behaviour. According to her, both kids were equally responsible for the incident.

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