Mrs. Krycia, that song... it’s about me. I am the bully. Please, can you help me stop?” The class had already been dismissed for lunch, and I was puzzled about why Tommy had made sure he was at the end of the line when he usually jumped up to push his way to the front. Approaching me with a great deal of obvious discomfort, Tommy looked up at me with pleading eyes. I could not believe my ears!
I was teaching a fifth-grade class at the request of the teacher who was at her wits’ end with the bullying behavior in her classroom. I had just played a song called “Don’t Laugh at Me,” sung by Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul and Mary. The lyrics really could have been written with this boy in mind. The song described a variety of people who had been bullied and how much it hurt.
Tommy laughed at everyone. He was loud and obnoxious about it. He would stand up, point and loudly say something derogatory regarding the person’s behavior. It could have been as simple as someone misspelling a word in class, or tripping, or perhaps asking a question he considered stupid. “Ha ha!” he would laugh and point at John. “You are so stupid!” John would hang his head and shuffle his feet. Across the room, Scott would be crying; he couldn’t stand conflict. Scott spent a good deal of time crying. Everyone ignored him. Tommy got the attention, and he was, by all definitions, quickly earning the title of class bully. The behavior was contagious. The other boys had picked up on it, and now it seemed that the boys in Room 7 were vying for the title of “class thug.” Tommy was not a big boy, but he walked big. His fists were always clenched, and his posture said, “I’ll get you if you mess with me.” He was eleven years old and appeared to be headed for big trouble.
Perhaps it was not until that moment that Tommy recognized the effect his behavior could potentially have on others. Perhaps he had already noticed that he was being mean and searching for a way to change. Either way, here was my golden opportunity to do something with him. Across the nation, educators had to deal with a huge increase in school shootings, and we were scrambling to stop the violence, but the big question still remained: How? So here I stood with a class full of students, and this one boy - who I was very concerned would be at the receiving end of a bullet some day - was asking me to help him stop this behavior that he noticed had spiraled out of control.
I asked the teacher if I could take the boys she considered to be the biggest troublemakers and meet with them twice a week. She was thrilled. She felt when they were gone she could get to teaching. So I began meeting with the boys and asked them each to make one small, obtainable goal - something they could achieve in a week’s time. Tommy’s goal was to stop laughing and pointing at people. He was to make a mark on a piece of masking tape we had applied to his desk every time he noticed himself pointing and laughing. I was hopeful. I checked in to the classroom and noticed a change. The room appeared calm. The children appeared on task.
The following week, I met with the boys. “How did it go?” I asked.
Alex, not one to ever be serious about anything, responded with a tone of combined disgust and joy: “I can’t believe it, Mrs. Krycia! Not only is Tommy not teasing people, he’s even getting other people to stop! It’s like we’re all being nice to each other. It’s weird!”
I looked over at Tommy. He was sitting at the table with his school lunch in front of him, hands folded in his lap and looking down as if in prayer. Tommy looked up at me and smiled. His smile was so innocent; his posture had changed. He was relaxed. His eyes, no longer little slits, were wide open and dancing with joy. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a pile of trash - and some of it was - but there in the pile was this beat-up piece of masking tape from the week before. He held it up to me.
“It was so hard at first! But look, Mrs. Krycia!” Tommy said proudly as he handed me the tape with the tally marks. Sure enough, he had tally marks for the first few days, but they had tapered off. I looked at him and saw a child - a little boy, not a bully. I wanted to hug him and run through the halls saying, “He’s done it! Look at Tommy!” But I simply smiled and knew that he, indeed, had done it.
As the school year went on, Tommy’s character continued to be one of leadership and inspiration. Now, when John trips, or Hannah misspells a word, there is no laughter. There is no hesitation to raise a hand in Room 7. The students know that it is okay to make a mistake and ask questions. Tommy won’t allow any teasing.
I was so proud of Tommy that I decided to make a home visit to let his parents know what had been going on at school. I knocked on the door, and his father answered. “I am Tommy’s counselor from school. I want to discuss his behavior with you,” I said.
His father scowled. “Oh, no, let me get my wife,” he started.
I stopped him. “Sir, this is a good thing.” Mr. Brown looked at me dubiously. He cleared his throat and called for Tommy and his wife. Tommy came zooming into the room in his stocking feet, took one look at me and smiled. His parents sat down on the couch, and Tommy climbed into his mother’s lap. She stroked his hair as I told them what had been happening at school and the changes that had occurred. His mother wiped away a tear. His father proudly said to him, “I knew you could do it, son.”
The moment was tender and wonderful. Never again would anyone mistake this boy for a bully! He was kind and compassionate a born leader who just needed direction. He has been an inspiration to his classmates to me and to countless others. I am hopeful that Tommy will carry the torch of kindness and pass it on to all those with whom he interacts. Tommy’s compassion and kindness certainly proved to be contagious in Room 7!
- Kristin Krycia