Children losing their lives in schools is simply intolerable. From this point, the discussion can get absurd.
Some rally behind the #WalkOut movement, and I understand their perspective. Our kids deserve a safe environment. Others advocate for the #WalkUp approach, emphasizing inclusion. I get it, and this is why I’m sharing my experience.
I’m a mother who engages in meaningful conversations with my children. I frequently check in with them about their friendships and the choices they make. We discuss everything. After relocating, my kids faced a fresh start at a new school. There was a classmate who would greet my daughter whenever we were out.
I was the mom who advised my daughter to “be nice to everyone.” She confided in me that this child lacked friends. I was the mom who encouraged her to “be inclusive.” My daughter mentioned that this child was often disruptive. I was the mom who said, “Listen to what others have to say.” My daughter noted that this child had difficulties at home. I was the mom who urged her to “show compassion; you can’t know what someone else is enduring.”
Then came a phone call from the school. The voice on the line said, “This is the school counselor, and I’m calling about your daughter. Everything is fine…” My heart raced. I had never received such a call regarding my children’s behavior before.
The counselor explained that some of my daughter’s peers had expressed concerns about a child who was giving her unwanted attention. My heart sank. I asked the counselor if I could suggest a name to see if I was correct. I knew exactly who this child was—the very one I had told my daughter to include.
The situation had escalated over time. This child was following my daughter closely and verbally harassing her to the point where her peers felt uncomfortable. I needed to know how the school was planning to protect my daughter.
I was informed that my daughter would be separated from this student in class, and teachers would be alerted to monitor interactions. Cameras were installed in hallways, and teachers would supervise during transitions.
I felt overwhelmed. I questioned what I might have overlooked in our many discussions about kindness and inclusion. How serious could this have become?
In front of the counselor, I broke down and confessed to my daughter, “I’ve given you terrible parenting advice.” She reassured me she was fine; it was no big deal, but I wasn’t convinced.
I had unknowingly placed my child in a precarious situation. Last year, when my daughter went on a school trip to Washington, D.C., imagine my shock when I learned this same child was in her group.
This time, the dynamic shifted. I encouraged my daughter to stick with her friends and remain polite but distant. I instructed her to stay close to the supervising adult.
If you’ve never been in such a predicament, it’s complicated. I want my daughter to feel empowered, not fearful. Our conversations have shifted to include the realities she faces as a young woman. We discuss safety precautions, like avoiding alleys or stairways alone and remaining aware of her surroundings at all times.
I’m not taking sides in the broader conversation about school violence; we can all agree that our children’s safety is paramount. However, I’ve realized that sometimes, encouraging our children to be inclusive, compassionate, and understanding can lead them into danger. Sometimes, it’s perfectly okay not to be inclusive or overly kind.
For additional insights on topics like this, check out our other blog posts about the important role of parental guidance in a child’s social interactions. Also, for those exploring their own fertility journeys, the resources available at Make a Mom can be invaluable. Moreover, UCSF offers excellent information regarding fertility and home insemination.
In summary, while nurturing kindness and inclusivity in our children is vital, we must also be vigilant about their safety and well-being. It’s a delicate balance that requires ongoing conversations and adjustments.
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