GUEST BLOG
By Tabitha Ronson I was called in to see Master A's teacher at pick-up on Friday. Although small in stature, she has an almighty presence and is thoroughly intimidating.
She just has to look at me, with her withering stare, to reduce me to a quivering wreck. Heaven knows how my little boy survives in class.
I stood, head bent, waiting to be hit by her wrath.
"Miss Ronson," she growled. "We have to discuss your son." Gulp! "I'm afraid that there was an incident with him today." Gulp! Gulp!
I braced myself for what she was about to say. "He was hit over the head by one of his classmates."
I let out a huge sigh of relief, my shoulders relaxed. Phew! He wasn't in trouble.
A few seconds later, my brain suddenly engaged. "What? Hit over the head?"
According to his teacher, Master A was with a group of his friends playing Dungeons and Dragons in the playground when another of his classmates became rather heated at being excluded from the game.
The group Master A plays with is a formidable bunch. A chunky little seven-year-old who stands her ground, a wiry six-year-old who is happy to push away irritants who get under his skin... and my boy.
Master A is happy to pull on a pair of boxing gloves and pummel a punch bag, whip roundhouse kicks at his kick-boxing instructor, muscle his way around a rugby pitch but, as his sensei reminds him after each lesson, it must never be used outside the ring, a lesson he has taken to heart.
Apparently, he sat there stoical while a spiteful little madam by the name of Ivy thrashed him over the head with the end of an umbrella, Punch and Judy style, just because one of the other children wouldn't let her play the game.
His teacher assured me that the girl had been severely reprimanded.
Although, she was given the lead role in the Christmas play yesterday as part of her rehabilitation.
That's the way to do it!
Working Mum, questioning whether the meek will really inherit the earth.
