It all started last year when BooBoo brought a rubber ball to school to play with at recess. After playing with it for a few minutes, a kid named Trevor confiscated it for his own amusement. Words were spoken, a struggle was had, and tears were shed. Trevor was swiftly reprimanded for his actions and first grade life went back to normal.
Or so we thought. Unfortunately for BooBoo, Trevor was a classmate with an apparent axe to grind. So from that recess forward, BooBoo became the sole target of Trevor’s aggressive and passive-aggressive behavior. There were secret arm grabs and pinches, personal items that mysteriously went “missing,” verbal threats, put-downs, and even a random rumor about BooBoo pooping his pants. My son, a spirited boy who’d always loved school, was slowly being reduced to a defeated child who complained about stomach pains on school days. My kid who used to skip out of the school gate upon dismissal now shuffled slowly with his head hung low. When I’d ask how his day went, sometimes there would be tears, other times there would be silence, and still other times there would be only one word spoken: “Trevor.”
Who was this Trevor? Was he a misunderstood kid? Did he have good parents? Surely there was something we could do. After talking with my son’s teacher and exhaustively addressing every personal concern, I felt reasonably confident our troubles with Trevor would be over.
But they continued. [read more...]