Where I live, bullying in school “is high up on the agenda”. Politicians write manifestos against school bullying. Schools make questionnaires. “Here, little, guy. Fill this out. Are someone bullying you?”. And when the questionnaires all have small tick marks in the “no” boxes, everything is fine. And the kids sing cute little songs about how good they should be to each other before they keep on harassing the guy who’s not as cool as the rest.
As a parent, you’re told nothing. Nada. Zilch. Naturally, 'cause when the poor guy has enough problems with just staying alive, he ain’t gonna spend the few safe hours of the day talking about how he hates life. He wants to escape hell for a few precious hours.
Finally, after years of bullying, you find out what’s going on. Not because you’re told, but because the bastards have escalated the “fun” to the point that your child comes home totally wasted from having been beaten up. But the welts and the blue eye are just the top of the tip of the iceberg. You can’t see the mental scarring from all those small needlepricks he gets. Every. Fucking. Day. Of. His. Young. Life. You talk to the bastards’ parents. Nooo, my child never does things like that, and besides, I’m sure your little brat had to see it coming. I mean, he once even told my little angel to fuck off, so he’s no better. And boys will be boys, right?
You take it to the principal. The principal is vewwy, vewwy concerned. But really, you see, children aren’t mean. Children can never be bad. Children are just natural angels, and we should really, really just talk to them. They’ll surely understand, right? And the principal talks to the [del]damn[/del] little [del]bastards[/del] angels. Everybody is happy. The principal is happy because the [del]damn[/del] little [del]bastards[/del] angels will never do such things again, and really, they didn’t understand the consequences. Right? The [del]damn[/del] little [del]bastards[/del] angels are happy, because they’re let off easy. Everybody is happy. Except your child. Because hell hasn’t ended. It has just become less visible. And boys will always be boys, right?
At the end of the term, the principal gives a speech. We’re all a happy family. Except your little child who is, even in elementary school, quietly and quite seriously considering suicide.
Damn you to hell, principal. Go and die slowly in a fire. Take those [del]damn[/del] little [del]bastards[/del] angels with you, and their [del]lame-ass fucking[/del] velly velly concerned parents as well. Or, if you are just as good in finding a decent fire as you are finding your ass with own hands in full daylight or accepting that you actually have a real responsibility for the children attending your fucking lame-ass petty excuse that masks as a school, just die. Slowly. Fuck you to hell and back again. If you owed me money and were on fire, and I’d just drunk a sixpack, I wouldn’t even piss on you, you lame, naive good-for-nothing fucking do-gooder!