When your son comes home crying

Tag came home a couple of days ago, doubled over and crying. Man and I were chatting in the kitchen.

Me: Tag, what's wrong?

Tag: My friends beat me up.

Me: [feeling a sickening chill] Let me see. [I examined the areas of his body he said he was hit and kicked] Tell me what happened.

He explained that he and two kids in our neighborhood started arguing, then they punched him and knocked him over and kicked him until a guy came and told them to stop. It is suspected that he was a soldier. He took the offending boys home to their grandparents and sent Tag home. Tag didn't have any marks on his body, not even the superficial, fast-fading red marks one can get from altercations. His emotional response was enough to convince me though. I sent him off to the shower to help him calm down and to let his body feel something else for a while. A couple of minutes later three police officers came to my house saying they got an anonymous tip that our son had been assaulted.

Officer 1: Can you and your husband come out and talk to us?

Me: Sure, that's no problem. It'd actually be more convenient for me if you came in though, since I'm cooking. If you come in, do you have to go through my closets or anything?

Officer 2: Is there a reason we should?

Me: [chuckle] I guess now that I mention it you can if you want to, I have nothing to hide except maybe a jar of pocket change.

We all sat and had a chat, they took a statement, and then went on their way.

A little while later the mother of the main child in question arrived with her son and her bother on our doorstep. She was in obvious distress, and immediately started explaining her side of things. It seems they've had a rough go of it. We invited her in as well, assured her we weren't angry, and offered to let the boys play together under supervision so that they have a chance to develop a positive relationship. We all agreed that all we wanted was peace and a chance for our boys to learn how to get along without coming to blows.

My heart was pierced by this woman. She looked far too young to have a 7 year old boy, wore a Taco Bell uniform, and never mentioned a partner or spouse. They all lived with her parents, getting by as best they could. It hit far too close to home for me and, in my heart for not the first time that week, I whispered "there, but for the grace of God, go I."

Man said he was worried that I'd become hyper-protective of him. After all, I couldn't imagine someone wanting to beat up my sweet boy with the too-loud voice and enormous eyelashes. We counted our blessings that his first brush with being beaten up let him off so light, and we talked about bullies and their comfort zones and why they do what they do.

Other neighbors came to talk with us after the police cars had gone, and the stories began pouring forth of how this bully had threatened people with stabbing them, and attempted stealing.

-sigh- The poor kid already has a poor start here. I just hope that he has the relationships he needs in life to learn about happiness.