How to deal with bullies

I am dealing with my 12 year old son’s bullies right now.  For many weeks, I have not seen him smile and he looked tired all the time.  He was being bullied with physical, racist and homophobic (yes, even that age, bullies use all sorts of excuses) abuse in school.  Initially I told him to ignore it and deal with it with humour.  After he was set upon by the gang of boys last week, I was livid and complained to the school.  I also found out that my son hadn’t told me about the attack because he was ashamed.  Here is what I have learnt in the last ten days-

  1. Bullies, like other people, change when they want to.  They won’t change because you want them to.  Don’t stay with a bully thinking that they will change.
  2. Bullies cannot be appeased by good humour and manners.  This brings out more of their ugliness. Do not associate with bullies- get away from them and leave them to deal with the emptiness of their lives.
  3. Bullies only listen to fear, so put fear into them by reporting it.  Transmit it widely because the only thing the bullies care about is their image and their power.  Bullies do not like reciprocal or equal relationships.
  4. Let children and all vulnerable people know that bullying is never okay and never to sit in silence.  Bullies love it when people take it without complaining. Never be ashamed of reporting bullying.
  5. Build up the broken self esteem of the bullied person with love and support.  Find other people who can support the bullied person. Build a fortress of love and teach that person to always respect themselves.

Critical

I was thinking about how I used to like the ‘likes’ on my social media pages.  Now, they don’t matter so much.  So I began to reflect on why that might be?  I know that since starting these pages and sharing my thoughts, I have also began to clarify my feelings and experiences. Consequently I am feeling stronger and happier than I ever was before.  Childhood experiences often shape us stealthily and it is much later when we ourselves become parents that we start thinking about these experiences.  Thinking back to my childhood, I had a very critical father.  Some of my work involves being critical- writing and to choosing employees, etc.  But was I transferring my critical habits at work to my home?

Now, being critical has its good points and bad ones.  Critical people are able to distinguish between important issues, make choices and reflect on things intelligently.  In the fields of arts and literature, being critical helps us to edit and curate our choices.  However, taken too far, being critical, can be very dangerous.  Especially where personal relations are concerned. If someone is very critical, then they are less likely to have close friends or family.  Critical people also have a need to be in control and to have a say in everything.  Criticism can become all consuming anger at every one and everything that is not going someone’s way.  Having an overtly critical parent can turn to us to wanting love and attention in other ways.  Wanting ‘likes’ might be way of saying I need love and attention because I am not getting it in other ways.

I breathed a sigh of relief when my younger son announced the other day that he was not going to go for a school prize that is given to ‘popular’ children- that is popular with teachers.  He said that he would be pleased to get it on his own terms (he is a polite and popular boy anyway).  He didn’t want to do things like writing poems or ‘thank you’ letters to teachers for no reason, staying on for extra lessons (not because they want to learn but to earn points), smiling all the time, etc.  He said he just wanted to be himself and if anyone thought he was good, then it was fine.  Here was a boy who used to be anxious to see how many ‘likes’ he was getting in the social media posts.  I realised that I had become happier, let go of the past and become less critical, so my son was a result of the change in my parenting.

Moving away

Our early and later relationships in life can be shaped by our childhood.  People we are attracted to could be either opposite or similar to our parents or any significant person in our early lives.  It is only when we begin to move away from these ‘types’ and start to look for what makes us happy, then only we find people and things that do.  Marie Kondo, a Japanese organising expert, has started a trend to keep things that only ‘spark joy’ rather than concentrate on throwing things that we don’t like.  It is always better to go to things we love rather than run away from what we don’t like.  When we run away due to fear, we do not notice anything else- even things that might be good for us.  Its like we are running in a dark forest without the ability to pick or choose our paths.  This is a fight or flight reaction. Note that it is a reaction rather than a pro-action.  It is a situation where we are not in control.

But finding that calmness where we can decipher what is good for us or not, can take many years and decades to find.  It is only now, I find that I am much happier and able to find things and people who ‘spark joy’ in me.  It is not that I am not my parent’s child any more but it is more that I refuse to live by the past.  Of course, I wish that this had happened much earlier but then that is life. This is when it was meant to have happened and I am grateful that at least it has happened.  Now days, I am quicker to find joy and move on quickly from people that don’t bring me joy.  And strangely enough, I find that even people who I did not get along with in the past, are people I can now tolerate or even like.  By finding joy within, I am finding joy outside.

Community relations

 

About ten days ago, I went to a funeral of a neighbour. I had designed the ‘Order of service’ booklet which she had left to the last minute. Through doing this, I had learnt about the remarkable life of her husband.  I learnt about her life and her children.  From knowing nothing about her, apart from greeting her when I met her, I learnt so much about another person.  I felt uplifted by this experience.

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Unknown to me, she had mentioned to many of other neighbours who had come to give their condolences that I had helped her so much.  So couple of days ago, when I needed help to move furniture and sort out some house repairs, I was very grateful to have the help of neighbours.  My little act of helping someone had ignited the spirit of help across the block.  I regret now that it took a funeral for me to get to know someone and help them but also grateful for the realisation that all it takes for a community spirit to begin is to knock on people’s doors and ask them if they need help.  I am now helping another neighbour who is seriously ill.  So much of our modern lives are taken up with living just for ourselves or family.  Our human family is much bigger.  This is our privilege and honour to be part of this human family.

 

On being wrong

Being wrong is human, being perfect is the quality of gods.  The reason we humans make mistakes is because we need to learn, we need to polish our lives and we need to grow.  All these reasons are valid and yet often we are ashamed of admitting our wrongs- mostly because of our ego and also because society is not accepting of wrongdoing.  Of course, reckless or deliberate wrongdoing is criminal but unintentional wrongs are right. I have been reading a lot about ‘wrongness’ (for example, see the book below) and it has made me reflect on things I have done wrong and how I tried to conceal my mistakes instead of learning from them.

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Earlier this week, I went to a great presentation on medical mistakes and these are some of the six points I noted which made the most impact on me-

  • Best people can make worst mistakes
  • Systems will never be perfect
  • Humans will never be perfect
  • Acknowledge mistakes and learn from them
  • Consider a way of working that is not wholly reliant on individuals
  • Share your stories widely

Unless we learn that personally and collectively as a society that failures and wrongs are good for us, we will never grow as empathetic and creative human beings.  That is why sharing our ‘wrong’ stories are good too- hope you will share some of yours and what you learnt from them.

reaching out

My neighbour accepted a delivery for me when I was out.  When I went to collect it, I was shocked at her appearance- she had lost a lot of weight and looked very gaunt. Not sure of anything, I mumbled thanks and left.  But it bothered me that I hadn’t asked.  She was a bubbly young French lady, with two small children and her appearance and behaviour were totally out of character.

Then a week later, while shopping, I met another neighbour and asked her if she knew anything.  This lady told me that the French lady had cancer which had spread.  It all made sense to me now- why I always saw her mother ferrying the children to school, not her; and her appearance.  I felt deeply ashamed that I hadn’t said anything to her, offered to help even.   But even then, I did not do anything.  But my lack of action kept gnawing at the back of my mind.

Couple of days ago, I put a book for her and one for her children and a card through her letter box.  The book I sent was a book that I read when I was ill with a stroke.  That very evening, I received an email from her-

Thank you very much for your kind words and your prayers, it means a lot to me.

Ella was delighted with the book and I will read the other one with great care.

As you know, when sickness takes over your life, you see it differently and dream of normal things and I can’t wait to put this ordeal behind me. I am so lucky to have a supportive family who take good care of me and the children.

My treatment is going well but I spend most of the time in bed as I go through chimio every 2 weeks for 3 days… 14 done, 9 to go ! My kids keep me strong.

Thank you again for your kindness and I trust all is well.

I was touched that she had taken the time to thank me despite everything- a sign of a great person.  I write this post not to proclaim how great I am but perhaps to say that how stupid I had been.  As my other neighbour said me, ‘You don’t need to know the technicalities of someone’s illness but reaching out is enough- it shows you care.’  Secondly, I learnt that you need to reach out as soon as you can.  Life can go by too soon and you miss opportunities to show kindness and experience it.  You miss chances to be part of the human family.

how to live to be a 100

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This is my friend, whom I have known for 25 years. He is sitting there with his card from the Queen to congratulate him on his 100th birthday and the two cups of tea he made, one for me (he will never allow me to make the tea!).  (In case you wondered, when people turn 100 in the UK, the Queen sends them a birthday card)  When I met him last week, I asked him what he thought was the secret to being 100.  Of course, one must allow that unfortunate accidents and illnesses cut short one’s life, so if those are to be discounted, then he said the secret is to living a long life is being ‘open’ to life.  We then talked about what being open to life means.

One meaning of being open is about being grateful for what life brings.  David’s wife died more than 40 years ago and he still clearly grieves for her but he is grateful to have seen his great grandchildren and his own children and grandchildren leading happy lives.  He was a tiny boy when the Great War broke out and he was a young man who served in the RAF in the WWII. After that he settled into a life of domesticity and peace, working for British Council until his retirement. He is grateful for the chances that life gave him.  David has been a Buddhist for more than 30 years.

The other meaning of receptive, he said, was about being kind to people. He often tells me the same story (and I pretend I have not heard it before).  This is about his friend who hated ‘doctors, Jews and blacks’.  Once this friend collapsed outside a pub with a heart attack and he was helped by two young men who probably saved his life.  David visited his friend in hospital and found him to be a much changed man.  His friend who now had a different opinion of doctors, said, ‘You know what, one of the men who saved me was black!’ To which David responded, ‘Then the other one must have been a Jew!’  Being receptive and open means being kind to all people and free from prejudice.

Over and over again, most old people who have lived a long life, say similar things to me.  I can’t remember even one bitter and angry person who has lived a long life, even with the benefit of modern medical care.  David’s friend unfortunately was not able to mend his ways, despite being very rich and died early, always complaining and bitter.  So there you are, live a long life by being open and receptive!

think before you speak

Elderflower stall

Yesterday I called my younger son ‘stupid’ in front of his friends.

This morning I apologised to him profusely and told him that it was not him who was stupid but I.

Yesterday I had been helping out at my son’s school annual summer fair.  I had made some organic elderflower cordial which he was selling at a stall.  I had given him some spending money for food while I was running another stall.  After he came back to ask for more money, I realised that he had used his money to buy my own elderflower cordial at his own stall.  I don’t know what kind of logic he followed because he could have had that cordial any time at home.  The cordial was supposed to be sold to visitors.  Of course, now he had run out of money to buy food.  In the heat of the moment, I called him ‘stupid’ for doing that.

This morning having had some rest, I thought about the repercussions of what I had called him. First I had insulted him in front of his friends.  Second, thought occurred that perhaps he had been generous and honest (also rather loving of his mother’s elderflower preparation), rather than been ‘stupid’. Third, I was mindful that whatever we call our children, they become that.  I remember all the phobias and fears I have inherited from my parents and it is only now, after several decades I am getting rid of them.

I thought of all the alternate ways I could have dealt with the situation. I could have taken him aside and told him that I could not understand the logic of his actions.  I could have joked and told him in a pleasant way not to spend any more money buying things that we already had at home and instead, spend his money on food.  I thought I would have never spoken to an adult like that and yet, felt free to call my own son stupid.  Surely I was also stupid. So this morning, we had a little chat about it and he said that he had been hurt by what I had said. I said I was very sorry.  I also explained why I had said what I had said, wrong as it may be.  We both laughed it off.

Children pick up on little things we say rather thoughtlessly; and what they say and do later are reflections of what we are saying and doing.  I would be mortified if he called someone else stupid.  So I have decided not to be stupid myself again and think before I speak! I also gave myself a pat on the back for apologising to my son.  Hopefully that is something he has also learnt to do now.

Ego and loss

This week I learnt a valuable lesson about loss- that loss is about ego.  If one loses something or someone, one is really thinking about oneself and how that loss is hurting them.  The loss is not really about what has been lost but about the feelings connected with that object or person.  If one can disconnect from one’s ego then one can see beyond loss and be more able to forgive and remember the thing that was lost, rather than what we are feeling and how hurt we are.

First I lost a lovely silver earring that had been given to me by my colleagues when I was leaving my first job. Yes, I felt sorry and sad for awhile- one of those colleagues was no more and it was a way of remembering her.  But then all in life is about loss- whatever we gain, we will lose one day.  So as soon as I realised that, I stopped thinking about the earring and was able to deal with the day.

That same day, I had a lovely lunch with a former colleague.  He had attended a pottery workshop I had organised almost a year back and had made a cup which I had got fired and painted for him.  He had been asking for this cup and so I was pleased to finally meet him and give him this cup which I had stored for such a long time.  Upon getting to the tube station, I realised that we had left this cup behind at the restaurant. I offered to go back and get it back but he said he was not upset about losing the cup.  But patently I was hurt and perhaps that showed on my face as I saw him sneaking off.  Anyway, I thought I must leave him to find that cup and I walked to the trains a little sadly.  Along the way, I thought about why I was feeling sad and hurt.  Again, it was about my ego. I felt bad that I had organised the pottery, got that cup fired and painted and then stored it for a long time and brought it to this colleague.  By saying that it was not important to retrieve this cup, he was in effect saying that my contribution was not important or even that I was not important.  On that journey back, I fought hard to disentangle my ego from the cup and my colleague. I thought about how kind he had been to me, always and the good times we had.  A cup was simply getting in the way of remembering and honouring that.  In any case, it was his cup and if he had

decided to leave it behind, that was his problem, not mine.  I felt happy and light again. mike's pot

A week later, what a lovely surprise it was to get an email and this picture of dandelions in that cup!  So he had actually gone back and found that cup (contrary to what I had been thinking). Having disassociated from the loss via my ego, this photo now gives me double pleasure.  This is now my simple formula for living a joyful life-

Ego+loss= Unhappiness

No ego+loss= happiness

A beautiful mind- rediscovering my father

Now things have changed and mental health is gradually being given a recognition. Sadly for us, this is a little too late- my father is towards the end of his life. He cannot write or paint or watch the skies anymore.

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I have to confess I didn’t know my father until last month.  He was always working when my sisters and I were young and seemed very strict (he did not like noise).  I did know that he was brilliant a maths teacher and he could do huge sums faster than a calculator.  Now he is blind and disabled and unable to look after himself.  He suffers from Parkinson’s disease as well.  I went home for about a month to sort out his financial matters and get my mother’s eyes operated because she is the sole carer for my father. Working my way through my father’s papers over a few weeks, I uncovered many beautiful and terrible secrets that he had kept quiet about.

Apart from the incongruous materials in the 21 plastic bags that I sifted through (for example, two pairs of shaving sets, someone’s cheque book, x-ray sheets, medical reports and other things), my mother handed me two ‘special’ bags, which she said, he always carried with him. But in those two bags, I found many diaries ( and our school reports of which he was proud). I was trying to find out why there were 24 bank accounts but I discovered other things.  My father kept meticulous short notes in the diaries- ‘X delivered papers to me at 7-30 pm’.  But amongst those mundane observations were also one liners, ‘Watched sunset’ or ‘Looked at the stars tonight’.  I remembered how we used to discuss the clouds, stars and skies- those were lovely memories. He also liked to take photos and draw with water colours.  He had a great interest in rural technology and always helped anyone who came from the village to the city- although as a child, I resented anyone sharing our tiny one bed roomed home. I found a notebook with his lovely flowing handwriting about his teacher’s training- ‘The aim of teaching mathematics is to increase the thinking power and reasoning abilities of the student.’

But there were also letters that spelt out how he had been bullied at work, his pay withheld and once even assaulted.  As a child, I remembered these incidents but had not understood them- like my father coming back from his school in not a very good mood, not having enough money (I found the well-thumbed ‘ration card’ which listed the broken rice riddled with weavils in particular that we used to eat). I remembered one incident when someone had come to apologise for something.  All those memories suddenly made sense to me.  My father was a proud and honest man, who had worked his way into the big city from an impoverished background in the village.  But to some bullies who were already established, this good looking and clever man was a threat.  So not only did they make fun of him but also got students to do this for them.  His family also inadvertently became victims of bullying. I remember hearing about a student coming with a knife to threaten him because my father had prevented him from cheating at the exams.  I remember us walking back after an evening celebration and being followed by some students from his school and my mother saying to us, ‘Don’t look back or answer’.  I didn’t know why she was saying this and I was petrified.

Now my mother tells me that the students were making fun of my father because he had bought a big piece of cloth, enough for two shirts (to save money) and they called him a miser for having two shirts made of the same cloth. I found counterfeit bank notes folded up in his diary that had been given to him as payment. I don’t know how we must have managed without as we were already so poor.  No wonder he was working so hard.  He kept quiet about this. I found some newspaper cuttings where his plight at not being paid had been highlighted in the press.

All this followed me when I went to the University. I was happy when I saw ex-students from that school had joined the same course but they gave me strange looks when I proudly mentioned that my father was that famous maths teacher from their school.  One of them was distinctly cold to me and I often wondered what I had done (and in fact, I was shamed that he did not think I was good enough to be his friend).  I tried so hard.  Now I know that their behaviour had nothing to do with me.  I don’t know when my father’s mental health deteriorated beyond repair and therapy.  He was a very sensitive man and the many years of abuse simply overwhelmed him.  There is only so much a person can take. I feel sad that I did not understand all this was happening and that my father, protected us by simply keeping quiet and venting his feelings in his diaries.  No wonder he carried his diaries with him all the time- he was ashamed and did not want anyone to know about his humiliation.

Now things have changed and mental health is gradually being given a recognition.  Sadly for us, this is a little too late- my father is towards the end of his life.  He cannot write or paint or watch the skies anymore.  If I should meet these people again, I have the confidence and self esteem to no longer want to be friends with them.  They may not understand my father or me yet but I hope one day they will have enough compassion and wisdom to recognise the beautiful mind which taught them and gave them the means to that wealth and power. I hope they will be able to express their gratitude to their teacher someday.  For me, I feel I have paid that debt of gratitude to my father now.  As Nichiren says, “The old fox never forgets the hillock where he was born; the white turtle repaid the kindness he had received from Mao Pao. If even lowly creatures know enough to do this, then how much more should human beings! …Surely they should not forget the debts of gratitude they owe to their parents, their teachers, and their country.”