The Apology

To close the loop on the story, here is how yesterday’s “Apology from Chicka” went.

First off, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was nervous. I mean, really, here I am going face to face with a kid that, unprovoked verbally went after me. Did I need to hide my car? How would he respond to me the next time he saw me in the hallway without school leaders there?

I joked to Brian that I didn’t know who was going to be more nervous, Chicka or me. I got to the school at 4:00 and headed to the assistant principal’s office. I could see her sitting in there along with another woman. As I rounded the corner, I saw the boy sitting there.

He was tall, very tall, and as I looked at him I was surprised to realize it wasn’t the boy I had guessed it would be (by observing that boy’s previous behavior). However, as I looked at him I realized he was one of the boys the assistant principal had showed me on the computer last Thursday. And my heart sank a bit.

As I mentioned in my previous posting, after I went off to report them, the boys bolted, so she had pulled up a few school pictures to see if it really was the basketball team and not just another group of kids.

At that time, she pulled up his photo and said, “How about him? Was he in the group? He is really, really tall.”

“Maybe,” I responded. “He does look familiar but he’s not the one who is usually the ring leader.”

“Good she said, I can’t imagine it’s him as he is a really, really, really nice, quiet, soft-spoken boy. It couldn’t be him.”

And yet here he was.

The assistant principal introduced me to the athletic director and to Chicka. She then said, “And here is Chicka, and he has some things he wants to say to you. I think you will have a very different opinion of him after you hear him speak.”

Panic set in. I have to admit that based on her phrasing I had a horrible feeling that perhaps this young boy had some kind of a developmental delay or a disability like Tourettes or something. Horrible sinking feeling in my stomach.

He started in, “Mrs. Snyder, I am sorry I cussed at you. Me and the other kids were just goofing around and playing. I wasn’t directing it toward you and am sorry if you were offended.”

[Phew, no profane outbursts. She must have just meant that my opinion would change after he apologized. And not that there was a medical reason for him to swear at me.]

My response, “Well, I understand what you are saying. And if you are being truthful that the language wasn’t directed to me, then I may have misunderstood. And if that is the case, I apologize. However, (and then I replayed the situation of what had happened), given all of that I am pretty sure what I heard the first time was directed at me, and I am positive that when confronted you didn’t step forward and say that you were just goofing around. And I am absolutely positive that after I called you guys on it, as I walked away you yelled after me. However, I forgive you. You are at a tough time in your life, whether you know it or not. I have been there. You are trying on different parts of your personality and seeing what sticks. And I just hope this one isn’t a part of it that sticks as it seems like you are a better person than that. But I respect you coming forward to apologize and I do forgive you.”

The assistant principal then reminded him that 1) disrespecting others, in particular adults and women, is never acceptable and 2) that while he and his friends may have been goofing around and using inappropriate language, you are a leader by saying “cut it out.” Not by taking it to the next level.

He then went back to the basketball game where he has been benched for a week. I breathed a sigh of relief and went to pick up Caleb.

The end. (I hope.)

My Encounter with Chicka

As some of you may have read on Facebook, I had an interesting run-in with the junior high boys basketball team at Caleb’s school last week.

Each Tuesday and Thursday, Caleb attends an after school program. The schedule is such that I pick him up directly from the program at 4:35. I usually get there by 4:30 so he isn’t left waiting after all of the other kids have boarded the busses. That means I wait for a bit in the lobby.

There is a group of about 7-8 junior high boys that are also waiting there, I assumed for parent rides home, over the past few months. They are classic junior high boys. Loud, awkward while overly confident, trying to figure out who they are…and therefore doing a whole lot of posturing. For whatever reason, the “whole lot of posturing” deal has meant that they have been getting increasingly obnoxious over the past few weeks.

It seemed to heighten about two weeks ago. I was waiting there for Caleb and a teacher or staff member (I don’t know her) walked through the doors. Once she was out of earshot, I heard one of the boys call her a “Blonde B*&%h.” Note to self: I will steer clear of these boys.

And so I did.

Last Thursday, I was walking quietly into the school. I walked past the boys and didn’t make eye contact or anything. As I went through the second set of entryway doors, I heard one of them call after me:

“Yo B*&%h!”

At first I was just going to keep walking. But then I quickly changed my mind. I spun on my heels and headed back into the door. At that moment, I thought, “Wow, I feel really, really old. I am that mom.”

And at the same time, I also felt like I was 12 again, right back in the junior high halls of Chippewa, being teased by Sarah and her cronies and wanting to run away. But the difference was when Sarah went after me all those years ago, I just took it silently. I didn’t stand up for myself. So this time, I thought, “Enough.”

I turned towards the boys who were all snickering and said, “Who said that?”

Nothing. Just laughs.

“No seriously, who said it?”

Nothing again.

“Okay, if no one is going to be man enough to own up to it, I will assume you all think it was okay and that you all did it.”

I turned and walked away and as I did, the same voice called after me: “FU&^%NG B*&%h!”

(hey, it’s a family blog, I’ll keep it relatively clean ;)

Now I was really mad. I walked into the Principal's office and caught one of the administrators there. To say she was equally mad would be an understatement. At this point the boys had both bolted and/or caught rides so they were nowhere to be found.

She tried pulling up school photos of boys on the team that she could think of. None of them looked familiar and I wasn’t about to finger someone without knowing for sure.

Yesterday, I got a call from the administrator. She and the basketball coach had talked to the team. No one fessed up on the spot. They gave them a day to think about it and the boy who did it stepped forward. He has now been benched and has asked (or been told, who knows???) to make a formal apology to me in person. She was calling to see if I could find a time to come to the school to meet “Chicka.”

Again…conflicting feelings here. Am I that 34-year-old mom? Willing to meet this boy with hopes that somehow, some way this will have a positive impact on him? Or am I that gangly 12-year-old again? Wanting to hide in the corner from the popular kids and pretend it all didn’t happen. I will be the mom.

I emailed the administrator back. I am headed there today at 4:00 to meet the boy.

Brian asked me last night what I was going to say. And I will say what I never got to say to Sarah:

“Junior high is a tough time. But it’s your time to really pick that path you are going to take for your life. I hope you pick the right one and treat others with the respect that you hope to be treated with.”

And, most importantly, I am going to say:

“I forgive you.”

(And Sarah, while I know you don’t think of me anymore, and most certainly don’t read our blog…I still, at moments like this, think about you from time to time. And I can easily recall the glee you and your friends, like Chicka and his friends today, took in tormenting me back in 1987. And to you, wherever you are, I forgive you, too.)

All the Mirgins

As I mentioned once before, I often sing "Silent Night" to the boys before bed. It started long ago when Caleb was a little boy and didn't necessarily "get" that it was a Christmas song. He just associated it with being a nice, soothing song. Noah, over the years, has come to like my simple rendition (if I can call it a rendition) of it as well.

The other night, he asked me to sing it to them before bed.

I have been wondering for awhile when one of them would ask what a virgin was and thought that the moment might have come when the following happened.

I sang the song and then Noah said, "I can sing it too, Mom." And he started in in this darling little boy, slightly off-tune voice:

Silent Night, Holy Night
All is calm, all is bright
All the mirgins there with their child.
Holy infant.
Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace.

I was so glad it was dark in the room as I was both giggling to myself and tearing up at the same time.

Not sure what, in his mind, all the mirgins hanging out with a child would look like. But it beats the heck out of explaining what a virgin is.

It's all fun and games until someone falls on their face.

We spent Super Bowl Sunday with our friends the Taylors whose sons, Chase and Ty, are almost exactly the same ages as Caleb and Noah.

Chase, Caleb, Ty and Noah

Eli

It had been a warm Saturday here in Minnesota, so the snow had melted and then refrozen overnight, so the hill was slippery.

The boys had a great time going down solo,

forward,

face first,

and in pairs,

As we were about to head back to the Taylors for Super Bowl watching and dining we made the poor choice to try to get all four of them on a sled at one time, you know, for the sake of a cute photo.


Here is what happened...







Noah ended up with a pretty scratched up face. And despite his claims, Caleb did not break his arm. Ah well. It still made for some good photos ;)

Any Given Sunday

It’s no secret that our boys are a bit sports crazy. They love sports. Any sports. Sometimes I come downstairs to find that Caleb has secretly turned on the television and is watching any sport he can find. This has included some sports that I couldn’t even identify.

It has gotten to the point where I have had to put down a “No Talking Heads” rule. What’s a talking head? Well, think SportsCenter. It is anyone who is a part of the non-stop, incessant world of sports commentators. Our kids, Caleb in particular, would be thrilled to sit and watch these aforementioned talking heads for hours if we let him. And thus, the “no talking heads” rule. I tell the kids: “If it’s not a real game, you may not watch it. You are far too bright, creative and active to zone out to a bunch of talking heads.”

And then, the other day, while catching a glimpse of some talking heads, Caleb called out to me, “Mom, when I grow up, I want to be a talking head.” Now given his interest in numbers and stats and scorekeeping, I wouldn’t say that career path is a bad one. However, I didn’t bother to tell him that most talking heads are former (washed up, now fat) professional athletes. And given his gene pool, that is an unlikely path for him.

Our kids also have an uncanny ability to cheer for the team that will lose. Truly, other than the Olympics, I can’t think of a game we have watched with them that the team they rooted for won. And so it went during the Super Bowl yesterday. Yes, they had decided they were Arizona Cardinals fans.

Over the course of the past few weeks, they have gotten into a bit of cute trash talking (that may be the first time those three words were put together in a string) with a 20-something dude at the ski shop where they are taking lessons.

He first learned about their interest in professional football right after New Year’s. I think they went in wearing jerseys for some team or another. And I think their excitement and conviction struck him and in his 20-something, dude-way, I think he thought they were funny and a bit cute. And so now, each Saturday when we go to get the boots and skis, he starts off by saying “Go Steelers” (or before that whoever was playing against Arizona). And they’d respond, “Booo, [insert name of team]. Go Cardinals!” And they’d go back and forth like that while the kids got ready. This week he came back at them with, “Oh yeah? Well I am going to tape the game and bring it in next week to show you all of the Steelers highlights!” "Noooo! No way!" our kids shot back.

I give this kid a ton of credit, by the way, and not that he will ever see this but think he’s pretty cool for talking to these kids (in a positive way) like they were two of his friends.

We had our final round of trash talking on Saturday and went to our friends, the Taylors, to watch the game. And down to the end it was looking promising. Now we’ve gone down this path before. Last year at the Taylors, when the whoever-was-playing team lost, Caleb burst into sobs. I mean giant tears squirting down his face, can’t catch his breath sobs. So even though Arizona appeared to be rallying at the end, we kept saying to Caleb, “It’s just a game, Caleb. There are no guarantees. There is plenty of time left.”

And so, they lost. And Caleb, to his credit, took it all in stride. Noah, however, fell apart and sobbed. And while gasping for air could be heard saying, “I am MAD at Pittsburgh.” (I assume he meant the team and not the entire city.) We picked up our puddle of a kid (and the other two, too) and headed home. We got home with three asleep.

Ah yes, I think I am ready for a break from football. And I will have to get in ski boot/ski rental room ahead of the boys on Saturday to warn ski dude to tone down the trash talking. Unless he wants a puddle of a 5-year-old in his ski shop.

But now we’re onto basketball and those talking heads are even worse!