Luckily, the bullying was a blessing in disguise as this new school and NHL took to each other instantly.  The administrators and teachers knew just how to handle NHL to keep him interested and engaged and NHL loved school again.  He even cried when school ended because he didn’t want to stop learning.

As the school year starts up again, NHL didn’t cry about going back to school.  He was nervous, to be sure, but they were normal going-back-to-school nerves and not a desire to stay away from the school itself.  He’s actually excited to go into the third grade.  (Side Note: How did I become the parent of a third grader?  Wasn’t he just a baby?  I think I need to go over my old physics equations to find out why if Relativity can prove that time speeds up a child’s aging process.  Side Side Note: Must find a way to keep JSL four.)

Thinking back, I recall my transition from the second grade to the third grade.  I had an awful second grade.  My teacher, Mrs. D, hated kids, especially didn’t like boys and despised me.  She would make fun of me in front of the class, give me “special work” to do every night (the same assignment which she wouldn’t grade – my mother made me hand in the same paper every day and she never caught on), told me I’d never succeed in life, and generally made my life miserable.  I remembered going to the in-classroom bathroom just to escape her for a few minutes.  I also remember actually being happy that I got the chicken pox because it meant I didn’t need to see Mrs. D for awhile.  Yes, itchy scabs all over my body were preferable to Mrs. D.

Obviously, I wasn’t sure about the third grade.  If Mrs. D was any indication of which way school was headed, I was going to be miserable for a long time.  Then, I met Mrs. S.  Where Mrs. D was mean and hated kids/me, Mrs. S was nice and loved kids.  This year we happened to have reading tests to place us into reading groups.  Mrs. S noticed that I got a good score on the “normal reading group” test.  She wanted me to take the advanced reading group’s test.  At her urging, I did and wound up doing well on that one.  So I was moved into the advanced reading group.

Advanced reading groups led to advanced level courses and then to AP/College Level courses.   Many of my successes in life and desire to learn new things, I trace back to Mrs. S.  Had she been a Mrs. D-clone, I would likely have hated school and dropped out at the first opportunity.  My life would have certainly gone down a much worse path.  This one teacher saw potential in me and did her best to bring it out.  She succeeded and, wherever she is, I thank her.  I hope that NHL’s third grade teacher can bring the best out of NHL the way Mrs. S was able to with me.

One interesting wrinkle to this story was NHL’s reaction.  While in the nurse’s office, he was crying, sad that he had upset the child and had hurt his feelings.  NHL blamed himself for the bullying incident even though he had done nothing that warranted a punch in the ribs.  He even, over that weekend, listed the child as his friend.  Yes, the kid that punched him in the ribs was still a friend to NHL.

As you may recall, I was bullied a lot when I was growing up.  One incident in particular happened in middle school  At the risk of retelling a story I’ve blogged about before, I only had one person that I considered my friend at the time.  That was RH.

The only problem with RH being my friend was that he would stab me in the back.  Literally.  With a pen.  He would bully me for awhile and then would play the victim, claiming that he had heard from a third person that I had said something bad about him.  Then we would be friends again until he decided to bully me again.

Why did I keep taking him back as a friend when he kept bullying me?  Simple.  I felt like I had no other friends.  If I admitted to myself that RH wasn’t my friend, I was left friendless.  At the time, a horrible friend seemed better than no friend at all.  It scared me to see this scenario playing out again in NHL’s school.

Then, in a display of good timing, I saw a tweet from @sociallysmart (aka Corinne Gregory) about the covering up of bullying incidents.  To summarize the article (which is a must read for all parents), school administrators across the country are turning a blind eye to bullying because it makes them look bad if they admit there is a problem.  Of course, this is a case of short term gain-long term loss.  What the school administrators gain in the short term (saving face and avoiding bad PR), the kids lose in the long term (higher incidence of bullying with little to no consequences).

The only solution is for parents to know their (and their children’s) rights and stand up for them.  It might be tough to do at times, but it is essential for our children’s well being.

My Aloha Friday question for today is: Have you or your child ever been bullied by someone you/they considered a friend?  How did you/they react?

Also, don’t forget to enter my Aerobie Sprint Flying Ring giveaway.  It’s ending in four days and has a very low amount of entries (as I write this).

Thanks to Kailani at An Island Life for starting this fun for Friday. Please be sure to head over to her blog to say hello and sign the McLinky there if you are participating.

Aloha #87

JSL and Cousin S seemed joined at the hip so many times. They would hold hands while walking, even throwing temper tantrums if they couldn’t.

On Saturday, we headed to Aunt S and Uncle M’s house on by the lake. We tried to go for a boat ride but had to hightail it back to shore when it started to rain.

Of course, once we got everyone off the boat and the cover on, the clouds parted and the sun came out! We stayed indoors for a bit but then decided that it was time for Plan B. We got the kids in their swimsuits so we could head for the beach. Wouldn’t you know it, it began to rain again! Not to be daunted, we decided that the kids and I (the only adult in his swimsuit) should play in the rain. JSL was hesitant at first, but then got the idea that I was actually permitting him to get wet and step in puddles!

This didn’t last long, though, as the rain soon ended. You can see JSL wondering where the wonderful rain went.

We then headed to the beach for some sand fun time.

Then, we decided to head to the pool. This didn’t go over well with JSL who wanted to play in the sand more. He threw a temper tantrum and refused to go into the pool. Opting, instead, to sit on the side with B. NHL did a good job of walking through the shallow end while I carried Cousin S through the pool.

Might I add that B has turned into quite the photo-bug. She even took a few “artsy” shots like this one of our pool/beach items on the pool chairs.

After drying off and changing back into clothes, it was time for wind down time, dinner and fun with family.

The next day, we stopped by a new supermarket with B’s brother and his family. Then, we headed back to the lake. This time, our boat trip wasn’t interrupted by rain. You can see B’s post for photos, but I’ll just add two that she neglected to post of her showing how much she appreciated my constant photo-taking.

I love you too, B!

The rest of the day was spent with family, playing games and enjoying the company of family.

Monday morning, I let B sleep in (or at least lay in bed for a few hours) when JSL woke up early. Then, NHL joined us and we tried our best to be quiet. (Which, with two young boys, is never quiet enough.) Eventually, we got up and headed out to meet one of JSL’s classmates who is new to the area. The boys had a blast playing in the playground, seeing some older kids playing baseball (and retrieving stray balls for them) and just enjoying the great weather. Before we knew it, we have been there 4 hours. After playing, JSL accompanied me for a grocery store run and then we went out for one last dinner out.

This morning, the hard reality hit. Summer vacation is over and school time has arrived.

NHL had his first day of second grade and JSL was going for his first ever day of school – even if it was only 45 minutes of nursury school with mommy by his side. (His first mommy-less day will be tomorrow.) How did my boys get to be so big, so quickly?

It was quite clear what was happening. My years of being bullied might have been over, but they had taken their toll. I had a big fear of socializing. I would get extremely self-conscious whenever I was in public. I guess part of the problem was that I felt like I had to be constantly on the defensive. As if the slightest show of emotion, the slightest display of vulnerability, the slightest opening up would be greeted with mocking, jeering and name calling. Even if I knew intellectually that the person I was talking to wasn’t going to do all that to me, some part of my brain regarded every other human as a threat to be avoided.

As I entered college, I made a conscious decision to change this. I joined a club whose sole purpose was to throw parties. I put myself into social situations. I spoke with new people. I even attempted dating. (I didn’t have any luck, but at least I tried.) All to try to get myself to feeling like I was “normal” in social situations.

Still, recovering from bullying gave me a sense of freedom in a weird way. I found I didn’t really care what people thought of me. While it did have bad points (such as keeping a beard for way too long when everyone told me it made me look old), it had its good moments as well. For example, one day G and I were eating in the cafeteria. Two girls approached us and whispered that they were sorry but they were pledging a sorority and had to serenade us as part of the initiation. Now, I could have been embarrassed and self-conscious. I could have thought that we were being picked on for one reason or another. In fact, G seemed quite embarrassed by the whole situation. I, strangely, found myself enjoying it. I figured that it wouldn’t be every day that I’d be serenaded by a pair of good looking girls (no matter what the motive) and I might as well enjoy it.

A few years ago, my high school reunion invitation arrived. I thought about going. My life was going well. I had a beautiful wife, two wonderful children and a job I loved. I was hoping to see my former tormenters miserable in their lives. When I saw how much my reunion was going to cost, I began to rethink attending. At first, it pained me that I wasn’t going to get the chance to rub my good life into their faces. Then I realized that I didn’t need to prove anything to my former tormenters. My life was good. I I had people who loved and depended on me. Whether or not those bullies saw my good life was completely irrelevant. For too long, the fear of them hung in the shadowy corners of my mind. Once I realized that I didn’t care about them anymore, the phantoms disappeared. I was happy with my life, with my family and most of all with myself. That was good enough for me.

In the end, I think that this will be a lesson that I pass on to NHL (and eventually JSL). It doesn’t matter what people say about you. If people try to put you down or make you feel like you aren’t good enough, tune them out. You needn’t do anything to prove them wrong. In the end, what really matters is what you think of yourself.

So, without further ado, I present Open Eyes by me circa 1994.

Alan didn’t know where he was.  He didn’t know how he got here, or where he was going.  He didn’t even care.  All he knew was that he could hear a group of people in front of him.  They were talking and it sounded as if they were having a good time.  He wanted to join them, but his eyes were closed.  He couldn’t join them if his eyes were closed.  Alan tried to open his eyes.  He couldn’t.  He tried again and again.  His eyelids refused to budge.  Finally, Alan panicked.

"Just open my eyes.  All I want to do is open my eyes!  Why can’t I open my eyes?"

Alan woke up.  He had been having that dream a lot lately.  As he got up and showered, Alan made a mental note to ask his psychology teacher what it meant.  Alan packed his books into his large blue duffel bag, and headed out to the bus stop.  He sighed.

Another day, Alan thought, all I have to do is get through another day.  And then the day after that, and the day after that, and so on until the end of high school.  Then I go to college, and I get to start over with a clean slate.

Even though Alan thought this, deep down he knew better.  If he didn’t change something soon, his whole personality might be consumed by this.  That was something he didn’t want to happen.

The bus finally came and he took his usual seat.  Behind him he heard the sounds that he normally heard on the bus.  Conversations
blended together into a uneven mix.  Sometimes he would hear snippets of a conversation and try to follow it, but it would eventually be
drowned out by the other conversations.  The one sound that stood out was laughter.  Whenever anyone laughed, Alan tried to crawl up within himself.  He knew that it probably wasn’t true, but he couldn’t help feeling that they were laughing at him.

The bus arrived at school, but not quickly enough for Alan.  He left his seat and waited for an opening in the line of teenagers waiting to
leave.  Finally, someone let him in the line.  He tried to say thank you, but only an incoherent mumble came through.  He mentally chastised himself for not being clearer.  Alan headed straight into the big building before him.

I just have about six hours, he thought, and then I go home.

As Alan walked into the building, he tried not to notice the people talking.  He tried even harder to fight back the wave of sadness that overwhelmed him whenever he saw a boy and a girl holding hands or kissing.  They were blatant reminders of a void in his life.  He didn’t have a girlfriend.  Never had.  This hadn’t been his choice, of course.  He had always been turned down, when he built up the courage to ask a girl out, that is.

Alan entered his math class and took his seat.  He was quiet amongst the storm of conversation until the teacher walked in.  Then, Alan felt in his element.  He answered nearly every question, stopping only when he felt people were noticing him too much.

I crave attention, he thought to himself, yet when I have that attention I feel uncomfortable.

He had taken to analyzing his personality.  After all, he was virtually the only person he talked to.

Matt sat three rows behind Alan.  Alan could tell that Matt looked at him with contempt.  Matt was struggling to get a C in this class and Alan was getting A’s.  Alan thought that they might seem to be easy A’s, but they weren’t.  Alan worked hard to get his grades.  But Matt didn’t seem to realize that.  He also didn’t seem to recognize that when you do well, people expect you to keep doing well.

Matt also, Alan realized, thought of him as strange because of his curly, seemingly uncombed hair.  Matt and his friends didn’t realize, however, that Alan’s hair was just curly.  No matter how hard he tried, his hair refused to straighten out.  Alan didn’t see the use of using hair spray to straighten out his curly hair.

Matt kept quiet during the class, except when the teacher called on him to answer a question.  Alan knew what would happen, though.  Matt was quiet now, but after class, when Matt had his friends near him, they would call him by that… name.  They’d call him "goon."  Alan winced at the mere thought of the word.

Alan didn’t know why they called him that.  He had gone so far as to look "goon" up in the dictionary, but to Alan the given definition didn’t seem to fit him.  Being made fun of, however, was not something Alan was unused to.  As far back as he could remember, he had been called by one name or another.  Some had faded out of use, others stuck with him, but lost their sting.  Throughout it all, Alan had learned that anything he revealed to those that tormented him could be used against him.  It was for this reason that Alan tried his best not to show any emotion.

After class, Alan got up and packed his books back into his duffle bag.  As he left the room, Alan noticed that Matt and his friends were following him.  Alan walked down the stairs and he heard them behind him.  Muffled shouts of "goon" reached his ears.  Alan walked on.  Eventually they stopped following him.

Later in the day, Alan met his friend Greg for lunch.

"Greg," Alan said with his mouth full.  After pausing to swallow, he continued.  "Do you know Matt, Brian, and those other guys."

"You mean the guys who keep bothering you?"

"Yeah, those."

"What do they keep calling you?"

"You know I can’t say it."

"Why?  Is it that bad?"

"It’s worse," Alan said looking at his half eaten cheese sandwich.  "Last night I was watching a TV show and during the commercial break I found myself cringing at the word ‘lag–," Alan broke off he was obviously having trouble saying that word.

Greg knew what it was though.  "Lagoon?"

"That’s the one."

"You can’t let this bother you," Greg said.

"I can’t help it.  Every day I can count on them to make fun of me.  I just wish they’d leave me alone.  I don’t think they realize it, but I might get some permanent psychological damage from this.

"No," Greg said.  "You won’t."

Greg is a good friend, Alan thought.  Disbelieving at times, but still a good friend.

Actually Greg was Alan’s only friend.  Sure Alan talked to other people, but he could talk to no one else so freely.  He had stuck by Alan through many of Alan’s roughest times, and lately times had been very rough.  He counted himself lucky to have a friend like Greg who would always be there for him.

"I’m serious, Greg.  Every day when I try to get into my American history class, they block the entrance. I feel like hitting them, but I know that I wouldn’t.  Even if I did, I know it wouldn’t solve anything."

Sure enough, later, when Alan walked around the corner to his American history class, there was a group of people blocking the door.  An all too familiar group.  Every time someone approached, they would part and let them through.  As Alan walked up to the door, they crowded into the doorway in an attempt to prevent him from entering.  Alan felt angry but he kept his emotions well hidden.  Through the shouts of "Goon," Alan pushed his way into the classroom.  When the teacher arrived, Matt and his friends walked away.  One of them whispered "Goon" as he left.  Alan heard it and tried to hide the hurt, the anger, and most of all the sorrow.

After school, Alan walked back to the school bus.  He got back in his usual seat.  As always, Alan heard the conversation and the laughter. Alan leaned his head on the window, fought back a tear, and looked towards the blue sky dotted with white clouds.

Please, Alan thought.  All I want is to be left alone.  I don’t want to be called go–.

He couldn’t even finish the word in his thoughts.

The next day something was different.  After the bus ride with the laughter, Alan headed for math class.  After that, Matt and his
friends didn’t trail him.  When he encountered two of them in the hall, they didn’t whisper "Goon" just loud enough for him to hear.  In American history, they didn’t bar the doorway.  When he saw Greg, Alan told him of this miraculous change of events.

"Oh, that," Greg said as if it were nothing.  "I met Matt and a few of his friends while playing softball.  They started to make fun of you behind your back, and I just told them what you told me."

"What I told you?" Alan asked with a puzzled yet hopeful expression.

"You know.  Permanent psychological damage.  They said they’d stop. They didn’t even know it was hurting you."  Greg decided that he
shouldn’t tell Alan that they were still calling him "goon" behind his back.  After all, Alan didn’t have to know everything.  This in particular, Greg thought, would hurt him too much.

As Alan digested the concept of never being called "goon" again, he was amazed.  Because of Greg, over two years of torment were over. And this was because Greg said what perhaps Alan should have said.  He hadn’t felt happier in years.

After psychology class, Alan asked his teacher about his recurring dream.  His teacher replied that it probably meant that he wanted to change something very basic about his personality.  It didn’t take Alan long to figure out what that was.

Alan felt separated from most people.  Matt had only aggravated this condition.  Without Matt’s torment, Alan could see that the real obstacle — to conversation, to dating, and to self-confidence — lay within himself, not in someone’s calling him by a certain name.  Alan knew it wouldn’t be easy to change something that was so basic to his personality.  He didn’t know if he could.  He would try, though.  That night, at least in his dreams, Alan’s eyes didn’t stay closed.

Over time, though, it got worse.  There was a group of kids that teased me.  (This initial guy was part of this group.)  They didn’t sit behind me in class spitting spitballs, though.  They followed me from class to class taunting me.  If I altered my route, sped up or otherwise tried to lose them, they kept up with me and taunted me more for trying to lose them.  If I passed one of them in the hall, nothing was said and I was ignored, but should that one be joined by a friend or two of his, they suddenly got very courageous.  I tried to ignore them as much as possible because I quickly learned that anything I said would just lead to more teasing.  (I certainly didn’t fight back physically as I was afraid of getting in trouble.)

Another favorite past time of theirs was blocking my entrance to class.  They would stand in the doorway, refuse to move and taunt me as I tried to get past them.  One particular incident has burned itself into my memory.  They were blocking my way, as usual, and I got angry.  Very angry.  You know the expression "seeing red?"  Well, this literally happened to me.  Everything I saw was suddenly tinted red and I felt as if I was going to lash out at the nearest tormentor in a very violent way.  As in "send the person to the hospital" violent.  Luckily for all involved, my teacher showed up at that moment, saw what was going on and told my tormenters to get away from his classroom.

The torment didn’t end at school, though.  All of the teasing was taking a psychological toll.  My brain would interpret any laughter as meaning "They’re making fun of you."  Bus rides to school and home inevitably had kids having fun somewhere behind me.  This fun had nothing to do with me and I knew it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were laughing at me.  I found myself slinking down in my seat, trying to shrink myself into nonexistence to escape the imagined teasing.

In hindsight, I was heading down a scary road.  You know those stories of kids who are bullied and then commit suicide or go on shooting sprees?  Well, had certain events fallen out differently, I might have been one of those kids.  It scares me to even type that nearly two decades after graduating from High School.

For reasons I’m not completely sure of, I felt like I couldn’t confide in my parents.  Perhaps it was because I was a teenager and had the "they’re adults, they can’t understand kids" attitude.  Perhaps I was too embarrassed by some of the teasing.  Whatever the reason, I was extremely lucky that I had a friend to confide in.

Remember I mentioned G last week?  He’s the guy with whom I became friends with in Junior High School and recently whose wedding I attended.  He happened to be friends with both me and my tormentors.  When I confided in him that I thought their teasing was doing permanent psychological damage, he went and talked to them.  They didn’t realize the damage they were doing and promised to stop.  To them, they were just having some harmless fun.  When G told me that they’d stop tormenting me, it was like having an enormous suffocating blanket pulled off.  I can’t say I was able to enjoy my remaining time in High School (this happened in our final year), but I certainly didn’t suffer through it the same way I did the previous years.

Let me make one point clear: I didn’t ask G to do this.  He saw this problem, saw a way he might be able to help a friend and took the initiative.  I’ll be grateful for his actions for the rest of my life.  Without his actions, who knows what would have happened.  I wish every kid being tormented in any grade would have a friend like G in their lives.  I think we’d see a lot less school shootings and suicides.

I think I need to highlight something else before ending this post.  That’s the point that my bullies thought they "were just having some harmless fun."  I think that’s the root problem with bullies.  They see an action (taunting kids) as enjoyable and don’t bother thinking how their actions affect anyone else.  It isn’t happening to them, so it doesn’t matter.  This is likely why standing up to bullies works so effectively.  Once someone stands up to them, it isn’t fun anymore and they move on to the next target.  Unfortunately, this doesn’t address the root problem of someone seeing taunting someone as "fun."

During my first semester of college, I was taking Creative Writing and decided to write about my High School experiences.  I recently found the essay and rescued it from a long-obsolete file format.  I’m going to post the essay in it’s entirety next week.  Yes, a lot of the same themes will be repeated from this week’s post but the difference is that this post is me looking back nearly 2 decades.  Next week’s post will be "Fresh Out Of High School" me writing from a mere matter of months away from the torment.

One time, RH ignited a rivalry I had had in elementary school. MH lived up the block from me. Calling him a “bad seed” would be an understatement. He ODed on drugs at a young age as did every member of his family. He would push me down at the bus stops and try to beat me up any opportunity he got. I wouldn’t fight back, but would just take it.

One time, he tried beating me up in the halls of our elementary school and I had had enough. I tossed my books down and started to fight him. I don’t remember if I held my own or if we were stopped before we even started. I do know we were eventually stopped. I don’t think he was able to beat me up when I fought back. After this confrontation, if memory serves, he stopped picking on me. Until RH got involved, that is.

RH, MH and I were in gym class together and the sport we were playing was wrestling. Not the WWE-type but the old fashioned Greco-Roman variety. Two people go into a circle. One person goes on all fours. The second person holds his arm from over his back. Then you begin and each person tries to get the other one pinned. Strength is only one factor that contributes towards victory. Stragedy is also a factor.

RH egged MH on and somehow got MH and I in the wrestling circle together. As usual, I played by the rules, but MH didn’t feel like the rules applied to him. He drove me outside of the circle. Normally, at this point, the rules would dictate stopping attacks until the person got back in the ring. Instead, MH launched himself at me, hit me hard and wound up splitting my lip open. Still, for some reason, I was still naive and believed RH when he later told me that MH had told him I had said something negative about him (RH).

Eventually, I did wise up and cut all ties with RH, except for one. I happened to befriend another friend of his, G. My friendship with G lasted through High School, college and still goes on to this day. He’s the guy who’s wedding I attended in 2008. He’ll also wind up being very important in the next story (next week).

If he is singled out and bullied, however, I’m going to need to figure out a course of action. And that’s going to mean drawing upon my experiences as a young bullied kid. This, in turn, is going to mean confronting this history head-on. So think of this week’s blog posts as therapy.

My own bullied history (as far as I can remember) begins in the second grade. The bully hear wasn’t a peer of mine, but the teacher. Yes, you read that right: the teacher. Don’t ask me why she became a teacher because Mrs. D hated kids. She particularly hated little boys and, for some reason, she despised me. She would make fun of me in front of the rest of the class. She would tell me that I’d never succeed in life because I couldn’t color or cut within the lines. She would send home busy work just for me such as writing out my ABC’s. This busy work would get turned in to her only for her to hand it back to me (unmarked) with the exact same assignment for that night. My mother eventually had me hand in the same paper over and over and she never was able to tell.

There was a bathroom in the room and I would go there as frequently as I could just to get away from her. When I got the chicken pox, I was happy to be out of her classroom for awhile. I actually dropped out of school, refusing to go back, because she was so mean to me. My parents let me stay out for a short while but then sent me back. Of course, my parents tried getting me out of her class. The principal wouldn’t allow it, though. He insisted that she was their best teacher and refused to consider any possibility of her being a Teacher-Bully.

I suffered through second grade and could have easily become the kind of kid who hated school and barely got D’s. Instead, in third grade, I ran into Mrs. S. Mrs. S gave me a standardized reading test along with the rest of her class. She remarked how well I did and how she wanted me to try the advanced reading test. When I aced that one too, she put me in the advanced reading group. This led to other advanced classes which led to AP and college level courses down the road. I credit Mrs. S. for pulling me out of the train wreck of the second grade and putting me on the fast track to a great education.

Years later, I returned to my elementary school. I wanted to visit with my old teachers, but mostly I wanted to confront Mrs D with the fact that I was succeeding despite her prediction. Unfortunately, she had retired the previous year and moved away. She had robbed me of the chance to show her she was wrong, but I decided that proving that she was wrong about me by succeeding in school was good enough for me.

Coming up next week, things go from bad to worse…

We don’t wish any ill will towards other families’ beliefs and practices so this one has, for now, been relatively easy to circumvent. We haven’t told them about Santa’s reality one way or another. The boys understand that Santa relates to Christmas and we don’t celebrate Christmas. However, I wonder what will happen as they get older. Will they begin to ask for a better reason why Santa won’t visit us or whether we’re on the naughty list for not celebrating Christmas? Perhaps NHL will want to know how Santa gets to every house in the world in one night. Perhaps he will have other, not so easy to answer questions. (If there’s one thing I’ve learned is that kids have a tendancy to find and ask questions that are difficult to answer.)

The more I think about the questions they might ask, the more I wonder where the line is. At what point does our wishes not to burst any bubbles clash with our wishes to raise our children to believe certain things. To expand this past Santa Claus, what happens if NHL tells a classmate in Hebrew school that men evolved from primate ancestors when that child has been taught that mankind was created by God somewhere around 10,000 years ago. That could understandably cause a sticky situation. To go past my own children, what if an athiest couple’s child tells mine that God doesn’t exist?

My Aloha Friday question is: How do you reconcile teaching your child what you would want them to believe while not offending others’ beliefs?

Thanks to Kailani at An Island Life for starting this fun for Friday. Please be sure to head over to her blog to say hello and sign the MckLinky there if you are participating.

Aloha #16