Wow, well that was unexpected.
When I hit upload on my blog post ‘We’re under attack‘ the other day I had no idea what it would turn into! It seemed that the reply threads consisted of twenty-odd positive, supportive comments and then one that suggested my children were monsters. Twenty more ‘I feel you!’ comments, and one accusing me of shrugging my children playing up as ‘boys will be boys’ (I have never, and I will never). Another twenty comments sending love, and one telling me that my children targeted the little girl and had planned an attack on her – puh-lease.
I just refuse to believe that children are nasty little schemers with a plan for world domination and pulling peoples hair. Perhaps I’m naive. Either way, I know my children, and they definitely don’t have a bunker full of targets photos and playground blueprints.
Heading back to the ‘boys will be boys’ rubbish. We’ve been down this road before: Boys will be boys?
Understand this – I do not believe that boys are predetermined to be rough. I do not believe that they are all angry, violent little delinquents. I don’t believe all boys like the colour blue. I don’t believe in shrugging off violence in school as ‘oh, he hit you because he likes you.’ I don’t believe that all boys will grow into rude, crude, grease monkeys with tattoos and a Harley (please don’t interpret that as me saying all Harley riders, or people with tattoos, or even grease monkeys, are rude and crude – actually majority of people that I have met who ride, have tatts, or work on cars are genuine, kind people. I guess that’s kind of my point, no two males are the same).
On the same token I don’t believe that all girls are delicate, innocent little daisies. I don’t believe that they all love dancing and baby dolls. I don’t believe that they will all become great housekeepers (the proof is in the mirror here). I don’t believe that they all like wearing skirts, and perfume, and heels. And some do!
I believe that every person is unique, an individual with personal tastes, interests, hobbies, passions.
To those of you who dared accuse me of stereotyping by excusing my sons behaviours as ‘just a boy thing’. I cannot use the words I am thinking, because I try to keep the language on my blog at a semi-PG level. You are absolutely and unequivocally wrong. I noticed two things with most of these people – they either skimmed the post/comments and made a snap judgement based off personal experiences, or they had a gentle little girl and got instantly defensive. Not all of them fit that mould, sure – I had some amazingly supportive comments from mothers of little girls! But a lot of the negative comments came from people with those things in common.
To those calling my children monsters – Pot. Kettle. You know? What does it take for someone to sincerely call a child a monster?
Oh and I cannot forget the lady that told me I wouldn’t survive being a parent because no one cares about anxiety. Apparently a cup of concrete would be the best solution. If only someone had told me sooner, hey? Oh, the issues that could have been avoided if I had been told to harden up years ago! #ifonly
Look, I shouldn’t dwell on the nasty comments, and I say nasty because the word opposing doesn’t fit. I have no issue with people disagreeing with me. They weren’t there. They didn’t feel the fear I felt. The didn’t see the death stares, they didn’t cower in the proximity, they didn’t shudder at the language, they did not feel it. They didn’t know about the continued abuse that was hurled at the woman who checked in on me. They could only go off the words that I wrote, and their own experiences. They are within their rights to disagree.
But when did we stop debating and start abusing? I suppose it was always around, we just never had so many mothers in one place like we do online. It’s in our faces now. And it’s easy. It’s easier to be nasty to someone you’re not physically standing in front of. But that doesn’t mean that manners and compassion should go out the window. Challenge me, debate with me, but don’t abuse me. We’re adults. No-one is expecting you to take out your $9 Target hoops and ready yourself for an attack. It’s not even in my train of thought to actually go there. I dealt with enough fights from nasty girls with attitude in High School, thanks #yourfriendlookedatmewrongitson
A few people suggested that I should consider that the other woman may have had PND or an underlying mental health issue too. You’re absolutely right. I should always consider that. The truth is, I was way too wrapped up in being scared, and anxious, and keeping the dam wall in one piece to consider that. I honestly don’t believe in this case that there was a reason for the abuse other than she was a mumma bear trying to protect her cub and she went about it the wrong way.
Please don’t think that I consider myself any better than the other mother. I don’t. My shit stinks as much as the next persons – unless the next person is my husband on burrito night, am I right ladies? I know my faults. I know that my children were in the wrong and tried my utmost to remedy the situation. I will just never believe that attacking someone is the answer, and call me pig-headed, but that will never change.
To all the people that supported me through this whirlwind, the ones that checked up on me, the other bloggers who shared my post and had my back – thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for being my virtual shoulder to cry on.
Especially the ones that told me to log-off and stop reading the comments – you were right.
And to the ones that decided it was ok to label my sweet boys, who we’ve established multiple times – DID THE WRONG THING (do you need it written in blood?) to those who labelled them monsters, abusers, attackers, and all the other things that I thankfully didn’t see –
All you did was prove that my children have more decency, compassion, and understanding in their teeny, tiny little toes than you do in your whole body.