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Throwing Sticks- A Parent’s Perspective

I am not an overbearing parent, or an excessive person, in general. No matter what anyone says about me, I am merely a mother protecting her adorable, helpless, small daughter who is playing outside in the front yard. She took the dog with her so now I have no one around my feet. The townhouse though creeks in the wind, reminding me that I had no one to watch over. Just to check, I peeked out the front door through the small window on it. She was there, sitting in a pale blue dress on the grass with the white dog beside her. Max was a good dog, not very observant anymore, but still a good dog.

The phone suddenly rang, which unfortunately pulled me away from my stakeout. It was no one important. They otherwise thought different and talked my ear off. From time to time I raised the curtain to see my daughter. Eventually, the person on the other side stopped talking and relieved me from listening. I sat there wondering. The laundry was washed, dried, folded, the bathroom was spotless, and I cleaned the basement last night. There was always Tv.

As I got comfy on the couch, new voices arose from my front yard. It was a little girl’s voice, whiny and shrill. I peeked thru the windows. It was from a little girl, blonde with a pink spotted hairband. She was flanked by two other girls, one much stocker than all of them. They stood before my daughter in a military form. They started to point at her and laugh. I saw her face go sour, a scowl was shot at the blonde girl. Suddenly there were fingers being pointed, the laughter came thru the house and my blood boiled. I went to the door, but by the time I opened it, it was for another reason.

Chucking wildly, my daughter aimed for the girls with the small rocks from around the tree. They screamed and ducked. They didn’t run though, just stood there with their arms wrapped around their heads. I stood there frozen to my spot, amazed at what was happening. Then a rock hit the bigger girl, knocking her down onto the grass. It snapped me out of my gaze. I scooped my daughter who still had rocks in her hands and was trying to throw them.

“Tia stop!” She didn’t listen.

The girls scattered and when they left my yard I carried my daughter in under my arm. Once inside I asked what she thought she was doing.

“Standing up for myself. They were bullies.”

I couldn’t help but smile at my daughter. She had done what I’ve told her to do when handling bullies. But now I have the problem on teaching her how to handle bullies.

True story, my mom is still proud of me.

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