He's No Rocky but...

Jack is fighting back.

That's good.

I guess.

Earlier in the week, he got off the bus and came running towards me, pumping his fists in the air. When he jumped in the van, he kissed both of his fists and hollered, "How do you like me NOW, S???"

*gulp*

I think we've created a monster.

I got him settled down off his testosterone high so he could tell me the story. Apparently, S was up to the same old shit, punching Jack and pulling wrestling moves on him. Instead of fighting back at that moment, though, Jack waited until the bus was pulling up to his stop then he clocked S in the gut and took off to do his victory dance in the street.

*sigh*

Apparently, I forgot to mention that an immediate defensive maneuver is justified. Waiting 15 minutes? Not so much.

I let it go until Tom got home so he could tell Daddy the story and we could all be involved in the debriefing. After we got him to stop doing his, "Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah!" chant, we asked why he waited to hit back, assuming that it was because he was afraid the violence would escalate.

Ummmm, NO.

"I waited until I could see you, Mommy, and then I did it so the excitement would still be high when I told you the story."

My son, master of the dramatic arts.

We talked to him about how he shouldn't wait until S had stopped to get back at him because then S might think that Jack is starting with him, ensuring a never-ending circle of justification. Good Lord, anything but that!

Jack seemed to get it.

Tuesday, S wasn't on the bus.

Wednesday, no problems.

Today, though, Jack hopped in the van and showed me his scratched up arm. S grabbed a handful of Jack's face, Jack got him in a headlock and S ripped off Jack's skin trying to free himself.

Okay, am I justified in asking the bus driver to move Jack to another seat?

Jack doesn't want to move to another seat. He'd rather take the physical abuse than sit with one of the kids who makes fun of his name, he says. "You know, because of the TO part, Mom. It's like TOES. You know, on your FEET."

(This is God paying me back for mocking Tom's name. He has always insisted that his last name is cooler than mine. As if! Mine isn't a synonym for a storage unit for feet, after all. Now random grade school punks are using my argument against my kid. Not cool.)

So ever the drama queen, Jack asked if we had the materials to make a cast. You know, to help his scratched arm heal. He changed his mind though.

"Never mind, Mom. Let's just leave the cuts like this. If Daddy sees them, maybe he'll stop making me be justified."

Oh. My. GOD. That broke my heart and it will break Tom's, too. We're not trying to get him hurt, we don't want him to do anything that is too hard for him. God, we love him more than our own lives and would die without a second thought if that's what it took to ensure a long and happy life for him. We're just trying to help him learn that sometimes in this world, you have to stand up for yourself. If you don't, it gives people license to walk all over you, both the person who is pushing you around AND anyone else who is there and sees that you can't/won't stand up for yourself.

It's a hard lesson to impart to a 6 year old. A difficult one to put into practice when your whole young life you've been told to be kind, keep your hands to yourself, mind your manners and never, ever hurt anyone. It's not a lesson I ever expected to teach Jack in kindergarten. But here we are.

Justified.

I guess.